


Touch Me Fall

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Atrocious Texting, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Exhibitionism, Foot Massage, M/M, Prostitution, Rentboys, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, Switching, Top Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 21:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1956735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> Malfoy was such a ponce. And he was a complete snob. And he was so fucking fit Harry wanted to jump him where he sat. It would be too easy to forget his objective tonight: to really, really, really get Malfoy out of his system.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Me Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Community Gift
> 
>  
> 
> **TROPE: Rentboy**
> 
>  
> 
> A/N: I want to dedicate this to a wonderful fest full of amazing writers, artists, commenters, and the two mods who've worked so hard, amorette and kedavranox. Thank you for all you've done, truly. <33 I owe my heartfelt thanks to my dear, talented, and caring betas, B(reaking)&E(ntering). You helped me so much! Any remaining mistakes are all mine, because I am so very stubborn like that. The title is from the Indigo Girls song of the same name.

Harry was swirling the whiskey around the glass, clinking the ice against the sides, when the knock came at the hotel room door. He took a deep breath and a deeper sip and then rested the tumbler on the arm of the chair in which he sat. With his free hand he touched his wand, letting the door come barely open.

"Come in," he called to the man on the other side.

When Draco Malfoy walked through, it was clear he had not expected it to be Harry, though Harry fully expected it to be Malfoy. Even though it was a Muggle service. Even though he wasn't listed by name. Harry had money. Lots of money. And he'd greased the right palms to get the information he needed.

He'd known – which is not to say it wasn't still something of a shock. A viscerally pleasant shock.

Malfoy, to his credit, covered his surprise within seconds. Not that Harry didn't first see it as he stood there, just over the threshold, blinking. Harry watched his Adam's apple bob before he licked his lips. "Potter," Malfoy said evenly.

Harry gave him a small, knowing smile. "Malfoy." Then, gesturing with his glass, "Get the door, would you?"

Malfoy stood there a moment, as if weighing the desirables against the risks – doing a quick cost-benefit analysis – before Harry watched him turn and shut the door decisively.

"Please. Have a seat," Harry said, gesturing to the second plush chair. 

Malfoy wore a slight frown as he stalked into the room.

"Can I offer you a drink?" Harry asked, picking up a second tumbler from a small drinks cabinet next to his chair.

"I don't usually drink while I'm working," Malfoy informed him.

"Care to be unusual?" Harry asked.

Malfoy's lips curved up in a dawning smile, albeit a reserved one. He lifted a brow. Harry poured him a single shot, neat, and slid it over to where Malfoy now sat.

Harry raised his glass and waited for Malfoy to answer the gesture. With curious reluctance, he did.

"Cheers," Harry said and clinked his glass against Malfoy's. He drank and observed the way Malfoy waited for Harry to do so before he, himself, sipped.

"Lovely evening, isn't it?" Harry said. And though his pulse was slightly fast, it couldn't be heard in his voice.

"Quite a view you've got here, Potter," Malfoy acknowledged, nodding toward the floor-to-ceiling window that took up one wall and showed the dark Hyde Park Gardens twenty floors below as well as the flickering lights of the city, the London Eye rotating in the distance, its passengers no doubt young lovers snogging like they'd perish by dawn.

"It is, isn't it? I always request this room."

Another eyebrow at that.

"How are you, Malfoy?"

"Oh I'm grand," Malfoy supplied blithely.

Harry smiled. "I'm glad to hear it."

"You are?"

"Certainly. If it's the truth."

Malfoy sipped his drink, very probably stalling. Harry relaxed into the chair, observing him. 

Draco Malfoy was, as ever, tall and lanky. Still angular, still cold. He made an intimidating figure. But there were differences: an ease around the mouth, the new ability to smile from pleasure rather than cruelty; a sparkle to his eyes, a warmth to the grey; a confidence in his body, in the way he sat, the way his fingers grasped the whiskey glass, how his eyes travelled over Harry unabashedly, trying to figure him out.

Draco Malfoy, where once he would have run, now sat intrigued. Harry smiled at him. 

"My apologies," Malfoy said amicably of a sudden, "but are we really doing this?"

Harry's smile turned full-fledged, teeth and all. He cleared his throat and dug for his wallet. "Do you prefer pounds or Galleons?"

Malfoy looked at him appraisingly for a minute before saying, "My agency prefers pounds."

Harry nodded and withdrew four hundred, placing them on the table and sliding the notes in Malfoy's direction.

Malfoy inhaled deeply, leaned forward, and took the money, folding it away in an interior waistcoat pocket. "Hour and a half, then?"

"Sounds about right," Harry replied.

Malfoy took a deeper sip of his whiskey, draining the glass. The sound of him setting it down on the small table between their chairs was loud through the room. Harry touched his wand and sent up some privacy charms and room wards. Malfoy's gaze dropped to his wand hand and then blinked back up to meet his eyes.

"How do you want me?" he asked.

Harry's blood felt like it quickened through his body. He schooled his breathing but couldn't help the telling swallow. "Do you suck cock?"

At this, Malfoy smiled at him as if he was such a sad little ponce. It shouldn't have been hot. But it was. Merlin, Harry only asked in order to see his reaction in the first place. 

Malfoy stood, and Harry watched his every move. "Here?" he asked, nodding to the chair in which Harry sat.

Harry answered by opening his thighs a bit further. He took a sip of his whiskey. Malfoy began on the buttons of his waistcoat. Harry let him take it off, but when he started on the shirt, he stopped him.

"I'd like you to leave your clothes on for now." Harry didn't want to have to see the body under there and then ruin his own mystique by drooling on himself. Malfoy, Grade-A prat though he had been all their lives, was probably quite a luscious sight starkers.

"Whatever you want, Potter," Malfoy answered.

"Could you call me Harry?"

Malfoy's lips twitched. "I could."

Harry rolled his eyes but leaned back into the chair as Malfoy came to stand before him – and then sank to his knees on the floor between Harry's spread legs.

Malfoy's hands lit on Harry's shins and caressed up over his knees, up his thighs. Harry inhaled long and steady.

"Nice trousers," Malfoy observed.

"Thanks. You're not ruining yours, are you?"

"They're made to last," Malfoy explained.

His hands… Merlin, his hands simply ran up and down Harry's thighs in a disturbingly unhurried fashion, his thumbs brushing teasingly over Harry's muscles – which felt like they'd been wired with extra nerve-endings. Harry found himself feeling both relaxed and highly aroused. And now that Malfoy was close enough, Harry could smell his brilliant cologne and hear his deep breathing. It shivered a little bit, at the very end of every inhalation, every exhalation.

Harry sipped his whiskey.

"Do you do this often?" Malfoy asked him, hands now sliding back down and deftly removing Harry's shoes. 

"No," Harry replied. "Well, I used to. It's been quite a while." 

Malfoy set his shoes to the side with care. "But you've used our service before." He ran his hands up one of Harry's trouser legs and peeled off his sock, fingers not quite tickling over Harry's foot before moving to the next one and doing the same.

Harry tilted his head and just watched him. "Yes, several times."

"So you're used to sleeping with Muggle men."

"I don't sleep with anyone," Harry countered. Then he expected Malfoy to go back to stroking his thighs, maybe even unfastening his fly, but that's not what happened.

Malfoy, git that he was, sat back on his heels and took one of Harry's feet into his lap. And he started rubbing it. "Why has it been so long?" he asked.

"I've been busy," Harry explained. "And that's not my cock, you know." Malfoy's thumbs pressed into his arch, and Harry let his head fall back on a hedonistic groan. "But, you know, whatever," he managed to get out.

"So, how did you find me? I don't use my real name," Malfoy asked, rubbing his thumbs against the ball of Harry's foot in a way that shot pure pleasure through Harry's limbs.

"I have a lot of money," Harry sighed.

Malfoy massaged his toes. "Yes, enough to simply give it away."

Harry lifted his head. "Philanthropy isn't 'giving money away', Malfoy."

Malfoy didn't lift his gaze from his work. He gave a little thoughtful frown in the direction of Harry's toes. "Charity is."

Harry leaned his head back again but tilted it so that he could watch Malfoy there on his knees, servicing his feet of all things. "What's wrong with helping those in need?"

Malfoy set his foot back down and picked up the other one, nestling it into his own crotch. Harry could feel that he was not yet hard. He would have suspected Malfoy would have taken an enhancement potion before arriving, but that didn't appear to be the case. Harry couldn't help wondering if he would at some point.

Malfoy started in again on the arch of Harry's foot, pushing into the tight places and making it hard for Harry not to openly groan. "Nothing, Harry," he answered. Then he added cheekily, "It's noble work."

Harry sipped his whiskey before answering. "As opposed to servicing people sexually?"

Malfoy smirked at the sole of Harry's foot. "I never claimed to be noble."

"Neither did I," Harry pointed out.

Malfoy glanced up at him then, working each toe with his warm, nimble fingers. "Didn't you?"

"If you listen to Rita Skeeter, I say a lot of things," Harry countered.

"Yes, I read about the big gay scandal."

"Well," Harry grinned into his whiskey glass, "she was right about that." He chuckled and drank it down, setting the glass to the side.

When he looked at him again, Malfoy was smiling. He set Harry's very relaxed foot back on the floor again and rose up onto his knees, his hands stroking up Harry's legs once more.

"I'd bet you’d like me to shut the fuck up. Wouldn't you?" Malfoy teased. "I'd bet you'd like my mouth between your legs if only to gag me silent."

"You're perceptive," Harry replied. Though it was, at best, a partial truth.

"Why don't you tell me to do it then, Potter?"

Malfoy's hands stilled. They rested hot against Harry's thighs while he waited. Harry drew in a deep breath. Then he said it, his voice almost a whisper. "Suck my cock."

Malfoy's hands slid up his hips and set to unhooking his belt. Harry watched, feeling those long, sure fingers unbuttoning his trousers and then unzipping his flies. Malfoy parted the fabric, glanced up at Harry once, and then lowered his lips and nuzzled against Harry's trapped cock, breathing hot against it.

Harry nearly managed to stifle a gasp. He watched as Malfoy rubbed his face against the bulge in his pants. Malfoy opened his mouth and kissed up and down, slow and wet. The sound of his mouth was exquisite all on its own. Harry sighed deeply.

Malfoy took his shorts in both hands then and pulled them down, revealing Harry's burgeoning cock and heavy balls. Malfoy made a sound that seemed suspiciously like appreciation – then he enveloped the head of Harry's cock in his hot mouth.

Harry's eyes fluttered closed for a moment and his breath came quicker. His hands tightened on the arms of the chair as Malfoy sucked him, just the head of him, massaging under the crown with his tongue.

Harry opened his eyes again if only to reaffirm that, yes, it was Draco Malfoy there on the floor, and yes, he was sucking Harry's cock like he truly loved having it in his mouth.

The very real Draco Malfoy then looked up at Harry, his mouth an absurd and beautiful 'O' around the girth of cock, and he winked at Harry. He bloody winked at him. Then he closed his eyes and slid his Slytherin mouth all the way down the shaft until his nose was in Harry's pubic hair and Harry's cock pushed tight into his swallowing throat.

"Dear fucking God," Harry groaned. It was almost involuntary that his hand sought out Malfoy's hair – that his fingers carded through it and made a fist – that he thrust his hips up, even though there was no more room and the entirety of his cock was inside Malfoy's stretched mouth already.

He could feel the delicate huffs of breath out of Malfoy's nose against his skin, stirring the hair there. It was a too-brief thing, because Malfoy pulled back, but then the clench of his throat was replaced by a softly sucking mouth, and the difference flooded Harry's body with sharp, stunning arousal -- like the endorphins after a duel.

Yes, precisely like that, Harry thought.

Then, really, there was no more thinking – only Malfoy's mouth sliding up and down his prick and his own hand unfisting Malfoy's hair only to stay and stroke it instead.

He was stroking Draco Malfoy's hair, for Merlin's sake, and it was soft and lovely in his fingers. Perhaps Malfoy would want to punch him in the face for it. It didn't really matter, since he couldn't. But he didn't even bristle. He hummed and grunted around Harry's cock and bobbed his head, and Harry sifted his fingers through his hair like a lover. Because he could.

Harry watched him work, though it looked effortless to Harry's eyes. He watched the movements of his jaw and throat, the fluttering of his lashes, the obscene sight of his cock disappearing between his wet lips… Harry watched it all.

"Can I come in your mouth?" he murmured.

Malfoy blinked and met his eyes, then he dove back down, fucking his face faster on Harry's ready cock with a hungry sound.

"Fuck," Harry breathed. Ten seconds later his come roped into Malfoy's mouth, and Malfoy started swallowing it. He was _swallowing it_ \-- even though some leaked out and down his shaft and stained Malfoy's swollen lips as he kept going down on Harry, over and over and over again, even after he was through and couldn't come one more drop.

Harry let his head fall back, and his hand dropped from Malfoy's head. Malfoy lifted it, tonguing the slit a little before he left off completely. Harry whined.

Malfoy's hands went back to rubbing up and down his thighs, though now there was no tension left to ease.

"Are you hard?" Harry panted, his head still heavy against the back of the chair, his eyes closed.

"Do you want to see?" Malfoy asked, and Merlin, his voice was hoarse. From Harry's cock in his throat. It was enough to make that very appendage twitch feebly, utterly drained as it was.

In answer, Harry lifted his head and opened his eyes, looking at him.

Malfoy stood and began undressing.

As he opened each button on his shirt, his eyes never left Harry. His confidence never varied. He unbuttoned down to his trousers and then pulled his shirttails free, finishing, and then unfastening his cuffs.

Harry had seen plenty of men strip. He'd fucked his fair share.

This was different.

This was…intimate.

Because it was Malfoy. It was him and Malfoy.

The image of an utterly obnoxious little blond boy flinging Neville's Remembrall into oblivion played through Harry's mind even as the grown man in front of him peeled off his shirt, revealing a pale, sinewy chest and a very faint Dark Mark on his vulnerable, upturned arm. A scant trail of sandy hair led down his abdomen. Harry let his eyes roam over Malfoy's body as he worked on his trousers and pushed them down and off.

Malfoy stood again, naked, his cock a leaning weight, long and arcing to one side. He stood with his arms by his sides, his graceful hands loose. 

Nothing to hide.

Harry stood and began undressing, too.

He left his glasses on and started in on his shirt, but Malfoy took two ridiculously confident strides forward, and he stopped Harry's hands.

"May I?"

"Be my guest," Harry answered. But if he had assumed Malfoy would treat him to yet another agonizingly slow seduction as he had before, he was wrong. Malfoy's eyes flared, and he ripped Harry's shirt open, shoving it off his shoulders where it hung from his wrists, still buttoned at the cuffs. Malfoy snapped his fingers, and the cuff buttons released. Harry gave him a little grin, both amused and impressed, and Malfoy smirked.

"Do you use magic with your Muggle clients?" Harry asked, letting the shirt drop even as Malfoy knelt and pulled his trousers and pants down. Harry dutifully stepped out of them at Malfoy's urging.

But when Malfoy stood again, he didn't answer. He ran his hands hungrily over Harry's body, his stomach and chest, down his hips and around to squeeze his arse.

"What did you come here for, Harry?" he asked breathlessly.

Harry leaned in, but Malfoy evaded his mouth. He grabbed Malfoy by the hips and struck once more, but again, Malfoy dodged the kiss.

"You don't kiss, do you?"

"Not on the lips."

They were pressed together now, both naked, Malfoy hard as hell and Harry's own cock swelling between them again. "Do you fuck?" Harry asked. At Malfoy's blinking, Harry added, "I've no doubt men want to fuck you all the time. I'm asking if you fuck them." He cleared his throat. "If you'll fuck me."

Malfoy looked momentarily taken aback, inhaling quiet and swift. But then he simply said, "Where?"

Harry put all of his concentration into his right hand and then made a swiping motion, clearing the chairs from in front of the window.

Malfoy huffed a soft, aroused laugh. Their eyes met, and they just assessed each other for a thrilling moment before Malfoy spun Harry toward the glass, shoved, and pinned him there, his body up against Harry's from behind. "Like this?"

Harry's palms squeaked on the glass. It was cool and smooth even as Malfoy's body was hot and alive at his back. He nodded. "Just like that."

Malfoy's hands slid up Harry's arms, raising them. His fingers insinuated themselves between Harry's for but a moment before he caressed back down, around Harry's front, and blithely touched his nipples, circling his long middle fingers around the hard nubs, rubbing over them, then pulling and plucking until Harry made a whimpering noise that fogged the glass in front of his face. 

Malfoy stepped in and nestled his cock against Harry's cleft while his fingers did their work. His voice was close behind Harry's ear. "You've used condoms with the Muggles, haven't you?"

"Yes," Harry breathed. He pressed his chest into Malfoy's teasing fingers, cock plumping.

"Since we're both wizards," Malfoy began, flicking Harry's nipples as he spoke, "I could do you bareback."

Harry squeezed his eyes closed and bit his lip, too turned on by that to even answer.

Malfoy dropped his voice to a murmur, his lips touching Harry's skin, his hair. "Shall I come inside you, Harry?"

Harry arched his back slightly, pushing his arse back into Malfoy's crotch a little, practically begging Malfoy to mount him. 

A hand left his chest as Malfoy Summoned something, but Harry didn't have to wait long to know what it was; Malfoy left off his nipples altogether to lube up his cock and then run a slick finger between Harry's arse cheeks, over his hole.

"I'm assuming," Malfoy began again, "that since you didn't choose the bed, slow and sweet really isn't what you're after?" The finger breached, pushing inside him. Harry's skin squeaked against the smoky glass again. "And since you _did_ choose to get fucked against a window that looks out on half of London, I'm also assuming that you're a bit of a kinky freak."

"I can be," Harry answered, finally locating his voice even as Malfoy finger-fucked a groan out of him on his next breath.

But it seemed Malfoy had little interest in prepping him and likely had only pushed a finger up his arse for the hell of it, because in the next moment he was aligning his cock. "Let's rattle the glass, shall we, Potter?"

"Fuck yes," Harry answered.

Then Malfoy thrust hard and deep inside him, filling him up in a breath and making Harry gasp his pleasure at being filled. It had been too long, but the burn was sweet, and Malfoy's huff of breath against his shoulder, his low, "Merlin," behind Harry's ear, so satisfying, that it was well beyond worth it.

Harry braced, and Malfoy fucked him, hands controlling his hips. Malfoy murmured filthy words against the shell of Harry's ear – "You're going to feel me all night. You're going to feel me tomorrow, Potter," "I'll fuck you so hard you can't walk out of here," "You might be paying for it, but who's the whore? Hmm, Potter? Getting fucked against the glass for anyone to see."

Harry should have wanted to shove him away and hex his bollocks off, but he had to admit it felt good. The cock inside him, the cool glass at his front, Malfoy's taunts. Because every word out of his mouth shivered a little. His breath came harder, and his hands roamed Harry's body with his own hunger, and when Harry tightened himself around Malfoy's cock, the slick bastard had to bite back a whimper.

That was the truth of things.

Still. Harry felt a bit obligated to snark in return, so he threw back, "Shut your filthy mouth, Malfoy, and fuck me harder."

At that, Malfoy grabbed a handful of Harry's hair. He stopped touching him anywhere else. And he slammed into Harry's body repeatedly until the glass really did shake.

"God yes," Harry breathed. "Fuck, Draco…"

He went like that for long minutes. He fucked fast, his pelvis bouncing off of Harry's arse, now good and warm and loosened up for it. Harry's eyes rolled back, it was so bloody divine.

"Are—you—close?" Malfoy gritted out.

Harry winced as the hand in his hair tightened painfully.

"Yeah," he managed through his arched throat.

At the admission, Malfoy slowed again. His hand gentled, soothed down Harry's body, wrapping around his chest. His other hand came to rest against Harry's belly, just above where Harry wanted it.

"Bloody buggering fuck—!" Harry began.

But then Malfoy fucked into him deep, stayed there, and started gently rolling his hips, holding Harry snug against his own body. He rested his chin on Harry's shoulder and sighed. 

And maybe it was an act -- fuck, it probably was – but it was magnificent: his cock so deep and barely moving, his body hot and safe, his arms wrapped around Harry securely.

"I could fuck you for days," Malfoy breathed.

"I didn't bring that much money," Harry replied.

Malfoy chuckled. He dropped his hand and fondled Harry's balls, rolling them experimentally. Harry's heart pounded against his other palm. He reached down, grabbed Malfoy's hand, and placed it on his cock where he wanted it before planting his hand on the glass once more.

Malfoy laughed again, the feel of it against his skin making Harry shiver. But then he started stroking Harry's cock, again pushing hard into his arse.

"Oh my God…" Harry moaned.

"You like my hand on your cock?"

"What do you think, Malfoy?"

"I think it's a very nice cock. But I want you to come just from me fucking you."

"And you get to make that decision, do you?"

"Ultimately? No. But you're not going to stop me, Potter."

And with that, his hand was gone, both of them back on Harry's hips.

"Ready?"

"More than," Harry ground out.

"Me, too," Malfoy replied, and Harry thought he heard the truth in it, his own urgency.

Malfoy started plowing into his arse relentlessly. Once he found the right angle and started stroking over Harry's prostate with every powerful thrust, it didn't take long. Harry arched his back, felt how that increased the pleasure tenfold – then his bollocks drew up and his felt it through his toes as he came all over the glass in thick, white streams.

He'd hardly finished when Malfoy growled and Harry found his newly-slack body wrestled inelegantly but efficiently to the ground. Malfoy got him on his hands and knees and then started fucking him fast from behind.

"Potter…fuck you…" He came on a whimper, his hips slowing, his whole body shaking. Harry felt the warm come spilling inside him and groaned. Malfoy rolled his hips and fucked long past his orgasm. "Look at that," he breathed worshipfully as Harry felt his semen start to leak out. Malfoy took himself in hand and rubbed the head of his cock over Harry's loosened hole a few times, teasing the raw nerve bundles there and making Harry whine and tremble on his hands and knees.

Then, with a loud groan, Malfoy collapsed on the floor next to him, his back coming to rest against the window glass, and Harry slowly made his way over to lean back beside him. They were both still panting.

Harry turned his head to Malfoy. "Bloody animal," he accused on an exhausted smile. His body felt brilliant, utterly wrecked.

Malfoy returned the smile, his arm resting on one bent knee. Then he closed his eyes, catching his breath.

"How much time is left?" Harry asked in lieu of something more like, _That was the fuck of my life._ He'd been almost hoping Malfoy would be a selfish lover and he'd have a good excuse not to request his services ever again.

Not so, though.

Brilliantly not so.

The bastard.

Malfoy Summoned a pocket watch from his things. "Forty minutes," he declared.

"I need ten of those before I can go again," Harry explained.

Malfoy just turned his gaze on him – and smiled.

~~~

"The final schematics should be on your desk by Friday, Mr Potter," Edeson said.

Harry could hardly see him down at the other end of the long conference table. He made a mental note to get his eyes checked. It _had_ been something like five years since he'd got new glasses, after all.

"And the budget?" he said, turning his attention to Norwich, who was, thankfully, closer.

"Very good, very good," Norwich babbled nervously. Then he went on for five minutes about the construction grant, labour costs, financial commitment from the Ministry itself, and basically everything that was in the report Harry already had on file.

Harry interrupted the poor sod but held his ire. "All I want is a breakdown of the figures. I just need to know how much and what goes where. Can you do that for me by tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, sir?" Norwich had begun to sweat. 

"Is that a problem?" Harry's iphone buzzed in his pocket, and he dug it out only to frown at what was written, not at all listening to Norwich's nearly incoherent assurances.

_Kreacher shouldn't have to remind Master of his lunches. Kreacher is a busy elf already._

Bugger.

Harry firmed his jaw. He pocketed the device again and then looked up at the table. "Tomorrow by eight pm should suffice. You can Owl it to me. And we're on track with the books, yes? That is the point after all, right?"

"Oh yes, Mr Potter," Elaine Thomas chimed in. "I'm working with Madam Pince as you suggested and—"

"And you've consulted with Hermione Granger, as well?"

"Yes, sir. It's going to be a wonderful library, sir."

"Fantastic," Harry answered with a tight smile. He stood, and several chairs scraped back in answer. "I have to be going. I'll see you all again in two weeks."

And with that he turned and strode out of the Ministry conference room, the soles of his dress shoes clacking away on the marble. He withdrew his phone again and tapped out a response to Kreacher:

_R U my prsonall assistant or nnot?_

And as an after thought:

_Don’t worrry so much. On my waay to meet wit thwm noww._

"Bugger," Harry muttered, cursing his fingers yet again. But he was at the Floo. No time to make corrections. The elf could read his crap texting no matter how atrocious it got anyway. Harry pocketed the phone again, stepped into the Floo, and declared, "Saint Mungo's cafeteria."

He had his informal meeting with the group of Healers involved in renovating the Janus Thickey Ward with his donation and then stuck his head in Angelina's office on his way out of the building.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, looking up from her paperwork.

"I can't stay. Just wanted to say hello and ask if you and George are still on for Teddy's party next month."

"Yes, and he said to tell you he'd have those joke brooms finished in plenty of time for the party favours."

"I could kiss you both," Harry answered with a smile.

"Hey, how's the speech coming for the anniversary ball?"

"Don't ask," Harry told her. Then he waved goodbye and headed toward the exit. 

His phone buzzed.

_Master should take better care of his wardrobe and not leave shrunken quills in his pockets that ruin the laundry for Kreacher._

Harry shook his head.

 _Tke teh nigt off and go have funn, you tiny gitt,_ Harry sent, and then pocketed his phone again as he pushed through the door and out onto the street.

The noise of the city hit him: horns honking, a street performer strumming out a slow version of 'Gimme Shelter' on the corner. Harry stood, waiting to cross the street and enter the alley in which he could Apparate with none the wiser. He listened to her smoky voice singing, "War, children, it's just a shot away. It's just a shot away." He dug in his trouser pockets, one and then the other, finally coming up with a roll of Muggle money. He threw ten pounds into her guitar case, the light turned green, and he crossed the street.

Harry turned into the alley and walked into the shadows. He took a moment to just lean against the brick wall in the dark. He deliberately slowed his breath, inhaling long and then exhaling in a satisfying rush. He checked his watch. It was nearly two. He had two more meetings to go: one to discuss plans for Portkeys for Peace: Reuniting Magical Community Post-War, and the other to finalize Floo synchronization for the depression and suicide prevention program.

Then he could go home.

Then he could sit with a glass of wine and his _London Evening Standard_ and lose himself.

It wasn't that he didn't love his work. He lived and breathed it. It was everything. Ever since he'd invested in his friends' business ventures after school – George's new joke shop, "Freddie's Place"; Luna and Neville's holistic, organic, and cruelty-free potions; Millicent Bulstrode's fashion line for the "generously-bodied witch and wizard" – and he'd turned profit after profit after profit, it had been Harry's goal to somehow give it back.

It was a dream come true to be able to do what he did.

It was just that his feet hurt and he was going hoarse.

"Two more," he sighed to himself. "You can do this."

He took one more deep breath and then Apparated away.

By the time he got home, it was seven o'clock and he was starving. He found the dinner plate under a stasis charm on the table and sagged with relief.

"Kreacher, I love you," he sighed. Then he took his plate and his paper and Levitated a glass of red into his study and ate on the sofa with the telly on at a low volume.

By nine, he was dragging himself up to bed. He refused to Apparate inside his own house, though, even big as it was. There was a certain comfort in trudging up Grimmauld Place's stairs.

He entered the room at the end of the hall and stripped off his jacket and tie while toeing off his shoes. He threw his clothes into the hamper by the wardrobe, even though he knew Kreacher would give him shit about the wrinkles, and then padded into his en suite bathroom to shower away the day.

He stood under the spray with his eyes closed. 

And of course that's when his mind strayed to it.

Three weeks ago. The Langham Hotel. 

Draco Malfoy fucking him like a freight train.

It seemed like months ago with all the work he'd put in since. But he could also sort of still feel it. Well, he knew that couldn't possibly be true; it was just the memory. But it was a strong memory.

He'd brought himself off to it numerous times.

He did it again now, reaching between his legs and stroking his cock, summoning the rattling of the glass, the fast breath behind his ear whispering to him.

Harry sank a finger into his arse, his hand becoming a blur on his cock. His mouth fell open, and he came against the shower wall sighing Malfoy's name.

He dropped into bed at precisely 9:45, and he was certainly exhausted enough to fall asleep quickly. But Harry stayed awake.

His body still thrummed a little from coming and from the delicious heat of his shower, and now that he was still and quiet and no demands were being made of him, he couldn't exorcise Draco Malfoy from his mind.

Harry hadn't meant their night together to be anything other than a one-off, a curiosity satisfied. He'd even half-expected Malfoy to take one look at him and then walk right back out the door.

But he hadn't.

Harry had thought he might perform his duty perfunctorily.

And he hadn't done that either.

Harry had thought it might be a painful reckoning between them. He hadn't known, himself, if he might see Malfoy there and have their history come roaring back at him such that he'd just want to curse the bastard and be done with it once and for all.

But he hadn't wanted that. Hadn't felt that.

All it had felt was…right.

It had never once occurred to him before he did it that he wouldn't be able to fuck Malfoy out of his system with one go, though. Really not much had "occurred" to him at all. He hadn't been thinking deeply on it or anything. He'd gone on instinct and curiosity and that spontaneous _thing_ he'd listened to all his life.

And now…

"Bugger," Harry breathed. He came up on an elbow and tried to beat his pillow into submission. He laid back down and pulled the blankets up to his chin, turning over and shutting his eyes.

But still he couldn't shut Malfoy out. His best hope was to fall into a dreamless sleep and—

His eyes popped open. He sighed in frustration with himself and stuck an arm out of the blanket. " _Accio_ Dreamless Sleep." The bottle soared into his hand, and Harry took a swig from it.

He didn't remember dropping off to sleep or not dreaming. He didn't remember his mind sliding gracefully away from Draco Malfoy into soft, cushioned nothingness.

He only knew his first thought upon waking up.

~~~

They met in the hotel bar the next time, but Harry had slightly misjudged how quickly he could make it from Hampstead to Hyde Park since there had not been a close Apparition point to his evening meeting. He strode in fifteen minutes late and starving.

Malfoy had taken a table against the wall and was already sipping what looked like quite a large vodka but was probably just water.

He looked up when Harry entered, and a myriad of emotions played subtly over his face for just a moment before he schooled them away and pushed Harry's chair out from under the table with his foot.

"Potter," he said.

"Sorry I'm late," Harry practically panted. "It'll go on my time."

"Of course it will," Malfoy answered smugly, and Harry gave him a small smile.

"Let me buy you a drink?"

"I'm fine."

"How about dinner? Have you eaten?"

"No, thank you." Malfoy sipped and fiddled with his napkin.

"I'm eating. Are you sure?"

At that Malfoy seemed to mull it over, his angular jaw working. "All right, Potter. I don't want to just stare at you smacking all night."

"Great," Harry said, ignoring his slick little insult. "I'll just order something really quick. Do you like steak?"

Malfoy made a face.

"Are you vegetarian?" Harry asked.

"Not exactly."

"They do bloody fantastic scallops."

Malfoy considered for a moment and then nodded.

"Right then. Be right back."

Harry placed his order at the bar – not customary by any means, but the hotel staff seemed to have been instructed to go out of their way for him at some point – and he returned to the table with a carafe of white wine and two glasses. He poured himself one and offered the other to Malfoy who politely declined.

"So," Harry said. "Should I pay you now or…?"

"I know you're good for it," Malfoy said. "Plus, who knows how long they'll take with the food." He gazed around at invisible slacking servers as though the world itself were an annoyance to him.

Harry couldn't help the smile that twitched at his lips. Malfoy was such a ponce. And he was a complete snob. And he was so fucking fit Harry wanted to jump him where he sat. It would be too easy to forget his objective tonight: to really, really, really get Malfoy out of his system.

Harry cleared his throat. "I saw an old friend of yours today."

"Oh?" Malfoy asked, his voice light but his jaw tense.

"Millicent Bulstrode," Harry replied, leaning back in his chair and savouring the delicate Pinot Grigio he'd chosen.

"Old friend is right. I haven't seen her in ages." Two spots of colour lit on Malfoy's cheeks. "Did you mention me?"

"Yes, I said you fucked the holy hell out of me recently."

Malfoy looked thunderstruck.

"I'm kidding."

Malfoy let out his breath. "Git."

Harry smiled. "I said I'd seen you. That's all. She wishes you well."

"What were you doing with Bulstrode?" Malfoy asked suspiciously.

A waiter appeared with their scallops, so Harry busied himself with spreading his napkin over his lap and watching Malfoy do the same until the man left with an absurd sort of bow and an, 'Enjoy your meal, Mr Potter,' and a nod to Malfoy. Harry _was_ a valued patron -- if he wanted it, he was sure they'd bring him dinner up on the roof – but the bow made him feel awkward and ridiculous. He was really too hungry to care, though. 

"Christ, that smells fucking wonderful," Harry breathed.

Malfoy pushed at his with a fork and then nodded his apparent approval. That sort of nod was probably a big deal to him. Harry shook his head and then popped a whole scallop into his mouth while Malfoy cut off a quarter of one of his and chewed it thoroughly.

Once he'd swallowed, Harry said, "She's opening a new store in Hampstead. Fashion line. Lovely, really."

"And you were…shopping?" Malfoy guessed with a frown.

"I have a controlling interest in her company," Harry explained, sipping his wine and forking another scallop, running it around in its sauce. "How long has it been since you've been in touch?" He popped the scallop into his mouth.

"We were never close, Potter."

Harry's phone took that moment to buzz. "Ffuff," he muttered, withdrawing it and looking at Kreacher's text before shutting the gadget off completely and re-pocketing it.

"Who was that?" Malfoy asked.

"Just Kreacher," he said. "I turned it off. We won't be disturbed again."

Malfoy gave him an uplifted eyebrow.

"Have you kept in touch with any of your friends?" Harry asked. He knew he was pushing, but he couldn't quite be arsed to care. This was Malfoy. He was curious.

Malfoy cleared his throat. He reached for the wine and poured himself half a glass. "Define friends," he said.

"Hogwarts? Zabini? Nott?"

Malfoy sipped and shook his head. 

"Why not?"

"You're not really that daft, are you?" Malfoy asked him. "You don't seriously think they'd approve?"

"Well, how can you know for sure if you don't reach out to them and—"

"Who says I need to 'reach out' to anyone, Potter?"

Harry squinted at him – at the flush that stole up his neck. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's none of my business."

"Right," Malfoy said, though any anger had disappeared from his voice.

"How are you liking your scallops?" Harry asked, aware that he'd bolted two to Malfoy's half of one.

"They're…mild," Malfoy answered distastefully.

Harry saw the waiter across the lobby and gave a wave like he was drowning out at sea. "Excuse me!" he called.

"Merlin, Potter," Malfoy said between his teeth, ducking his head as though he were embarrassed to be seen with him.

"What? He's coming. Look."

Malfoy looked and nodded but rolled his eyes, too, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin.

"Yes, sir?" the waiter asked upon arrival.

"My friend here could use extra sauce," Harry told him.

"Right away, Mr Potter."

"Thank you," Harry told him. He popped another scallop into his own mouth.

Malfoy looked amused now. "How much money have you thrown at this hotel?"

Harry grinned around his bite but didn't answer.

Malfoy sipped his wine, and Harry was pleased to see that his earlier shame and bitterness had eroded and he was back to looking at Harry as though it wouldn't be all that much of a problem to fuck him.

The sauce arrived so quickly Harry thought the poor man must have actually run. Malfoy looked at Harry, then drizzled it over his food, taking a small bite again and this time nodding in approval.

"Better?" Harry asked.

"Much," Malfoy answered. "Thank you."

"It was no problem."

"For you," Malfoy smirked.

"Well, apparently I did make a bit of an arse of myself," Harry supplied.

"Hardly, Potter." Malfoy blushed then and dropped his gaze to his meal.

Merlin, he was almost beautiful like that – blushing and sweet. Harry's cock started to get hard. He took a healthy gulp of his wine, draining the glass. He dabbed his mouth and laid his napkin over his plate.

He let Malfoy finish his bite. Then Harry touched his wand and cast a Disillusionment charm over the table, making it slightly repulsive to passers-by and conjuring a visual loop of them eating and talking.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked.

Harry said nothing. His lips had parted to accommodate his short, shallow breaths. He felt his face heat beneath Malfoy's inquisitive gaze.

Harry scooted his chair back, slipped out of it and onto the floor, then crawled under the table.

"Potter," Malfoy warned.

"Scoot down," Harry instructed.

He heard Malfoy's exhale. He seemed about to protest. Then he slouched in his chair, and Harry went to work on his trousers, his hands shaking. Malfoy's thighs were hard and tense under his arms.

Harry opened Malfoy's trousers and pulled his cock out through the slit in his briefs.

"Potter…" Malfoy said again, but this time it was very much not a warning; it was a sigh.

His soft cock rapidly began to harden in Harry's hand. Harry aimed it toward his mouth, wrapped his lips around it, and sucked.

Malfoy growled above him. Harry tongued around the head and didn't even try to stop himself from moaning. Malfoy's breath started coming irregularly. His hands gripped the edge of the table; Harry could just see his thumbs going white underneath.

He started bobbing his head. Malfoy's cock was all the way erect now in his mouth. It filled him, the salt-tang of his pre-come slippery on his tongue. Harry moaned again, shutting his eyes and running his hands up and down Malfoy's legs as Malfoy had done to him. The thighs beneath his fingers began to tremble.

"Harry, Christ…" Malfoy whined.

Harry bobbed his head faster. The little sounds coming from Malfoy's throat were an aphrodisiac. He was aching inside his own pants, but he didn't touch himself.

"I'm…going to…come," Malfoy got out. One hand slipped under the table and found Harry's face, stroking over it and then wrapping warm behind his neck.

Harry bobbed fast, just covering his teeth and choosing speed over finesse. Apparently it was the right choice, as Malfoy let out a sound like he might be dying and proceeded to fill Harry's mouth with his hot come.

His hips made short little thrusts, and Harry swallowed, drunk on the power of making Malfoy lose control, on the heady taste, on doing this to him in public.

Malfoy's rigid body went lax, and Harry sucked off his cock, tucking it back into the pocket of his briefs and getting his trousers refastened while Malfoy panted. Harry scooted back and came back out from under the table, taking his seat once again.

Malfoy was looking at him like he was just slightly afraid of him. It made Harry smile. He disengaged the charm, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, then waved at their waiter and gave a shout, "Check please!"

~~~

They'd gotten up to the room in record time without Apparating, though most of the time spent in the lift was put to relatively good use.

When Malfoy had made for the bed (or maybe it was the window again – he didn't get very far), Harry stopped him, dragging him into the shower instead.

And he'd quickly realised that getting head from Draco Malfoy in a hot shower was one of this life's most profound pleasures. If the blow job itself wasn't enough…well, he got to see Malfoy naked and wet. He got to see him naked and wet and on his knees.

He got to see him naked and wet and on his knees with his mouth stuffed with Harry's cock and his own getting hard again from it.

And bloody hell, that mouth…

Brilliant had a brand new definition, and that was coming over Malfoy's working tongue, on his pointy face, under a deluge of hot water, practically screaming Malfoy's name.

Even still, Harry's very favourite part might have been wanking Draco's cock after and watching him lose it, yet again, against the dripping shower wall, whimpering and whining as Harry coaxed him through it, unable not to smile in response.

Because Harry could not stop smiling.

Even after. Even still damp and in nothing but a fluffy hotel bathrobe while Malfoy was dressed and ready to go. Even as Harry pushed his back against the door and buried his face in Malfoy's neck, licking and sucking and humming as he Summoned his wallet and tucked six hundred pounds into Malfoy's waistcoat pocket…

Even when Malfoy thanked him and walked out the door…

Harry had not been able to stop smiling.

He was smiling right now.

"Yeah, it's just my life and all. Nothing to get excited about, much less pay attention to," Ron pouted.

"Shit. I'm sorry, Ron," Harry said, shaking himself out of it. He took a sip of his tea to clear his head. "It's your turn."

Ron bit his lip, thought for thirty seconds, and then moved his knight. "It's just that I grew up in a big family, you know? And we talked about it before we got married, too. I feel like she's changing the rules in the middle of the game."

Harry looked at the board studiously. "It's not a game, though. It's her life, too. She loves her work."

"I know," Ron groaned. "And she's bloody good at it. Great at it. It's just that we talked about starting a family in our late twenties. Now she's talking about her early thirties, and I can't help but wonder if she'll move it again after that. I feel…helpless. Like it's not up to me at all."

Harry moved his own knight. "Doesn't sound like there's an easy solution."

"No," Ron agreed. "And it doesn't help that I worry about her, too. How does someone so brilliantly smart decide they have to be an Auror?"

"Aurors can't be smart?" Harry smirked.

"There are just about a thousand ways she could use that brain of hers that wouldn't put her in any danger at all. I mean, why can't she be a librarian, Harry? Why?"

"There are some pretty dangerous books in the restricted section."

"Oh, shut it."

"Ron, I understand. I do. But you said it yourself. Hermione's great at her job. Plus, she's got Dean. They make good partners. He's got her back. You know that."

"Yeah," Ron sighed.

"Plus, you're not exactly ready to retire."

"Stop saying sensible things. You're supposed to be my friend."

Harry laughed, but there wasn't much amusement in it. He decided to try a change of subject. "Got a game coming up?"

"Yeah. Saturday."

"Against Ginny?" Harry tried to hide his smirk behind his hand.

"She's got it coming."

"Because she kicked your arse last game?"

"She didn't personally kick my arse, you plonker. The Harpies won as part of a team effort—"

"Which consisted of your little sister kicking your arse," Harry finished for him.

"Why'd you have to be gay?" Ron philosophized morosely. "If you two'd gotten married—"

"Have you lost your mind? I'm not the only gay one in this equation. And even if we were both straight and married and had a Crup and all that, I still wouldn't have any say on whether or not she completely and utterly _kicked your arse_." Harry sipped his tea.

Ron scowled at him fiercely, moved his piece, and declared, "Checkmate."

"Lovely losing to you for the seventh time in a row, Ron. Thanks."

Ron's frown broke a little, and he puffed his chest out proudly, clearing the board. "Another game or do you have to run as usual?"

"Run as usual," Harry said.

"Thanks for coming by, Harry," Ron told him, standing.

"I don't feel like I was good company," Harry apologised. He could feel the heat in his face. The kind only Malfoy, it seemed, could put there.

"Harry, you're always welcome to lose at chess to me," Ron said, clapping his hand on Harry's shoulder roughly.

They fake-wrestled for a few moments, laughing, and then Ron walked him to the Floo. 

"Things will work out with Hermione. Just give her some time."

"I know," Ron said. "I will. Thanks, Harry."

Once again, guilt soured Harry's stomach. All he'd done was forget where he was and daydream about Malfoy and then give Ron platitudes. At least that's how it felt. 

But he said his goodbyes and then Floo'd home to his study and tried to get his paperwork done. It took three times as long as it should have.

Finally, at six, Kreacher intruded on his half-finished work. 

"Kreacher is not going to put his pudding under a stasis charm again. Master can eat it or starve." He Levitated the plate and a pumpkin juice straight onto Harry's desk, right on top of his work.

"I wouldn't starve without you, I'll have you know," Harry groused.

And if his eyebrows weren't permanently affixed in a curmudgeonly frown, the elf would have lifted one in challenge, Harry was sure.

"Thank you," Harry muttered, pulling his parchments out from under the plate and setting them safely aside.

Once Kreacher left, Harry ate, though he hardly tasted it. His mind kept wandering -- and not to his work.

Apparently, hiring Draco Malfoy a second time had done nothing to properly remove the desire for a third.

Harry sighed, pushed his plate away with his food half-eaten, and sank his fingers into his hair, covering his face with his hands. He muffled a growl into his palms.

There was nothing for it.

Harry pulled his phone out of his pocket and made the call.

The third time would be the bloody charm.

~~~

It was, and it wasn't.

It was in that, Merlin's perky tits, it was brilliant!

It wasn't in that…well, it just wasn't.

Malfoy had fucked him three times, and for the third, they'd ended on the bed with Harry's legs spread open and hiked up and Malfoy's cock burying itself inside him like he'd never tire of it.

Harry got to watch Malfoy's face as he came. He got to hold on tight to the headboard and ride it out. He wanked himself with Malfoy still inside him and spilled between their bodies.

They'd collapsed together, Malfoy's bony body lain atop Harry's own while they collected their breath.

Harry had gotten to hold and touch him.

He'd rolled Malfoy over and taken half an hour just to kiss every inch of his chest and stomach. He'd kissed Malfoy's tiny nipples, tasting them; his sinewy shoulders, the muscles jumping under Harry's teasing lips; his ribs as he breathed; down the treasure trail of fine blond hair.

He'd said his name against his skin.

But the name he said wasn't Malfoy.

It was, "Draco…"

"You can suck my cock if you want, Potter, but I don't think it will so much as twitch," Draco had yawned as Harry left soft lip prints on his hip bones, over his belly. 

"Call me Harry, you prick," Harry said, his kisses unceasing.

Draco had stretched luxuriantly, tucked his arms under his head, and closed his eyes. "Harry…" he'd sighed.

So yes. Harry blamed him.

He blamed him for the fact that he didn't even wait a few days to schedule their next tryst. He scheduled it right then, with Draco naked under his lips. There was nothing else to be done. Harry had needs. He'd met those needs just fine before he'd found out what Draco was doing for work. He could meet them just fine without Draco. He just preferred to do it _with_ him. Because Draco Malfoy was extraordinarily good at meeting Harry's needs.

That's all there was to it.

So, no more exorcising him, or trying to. Harry gave in and asked for a standing Saturday night appointment. Draco boxed out the three hours between eight and eleven for him. 

"So, the agency won't mind that you won't be available to anyone else at that time?" Harry had asked as they dressed.

"Money is money is money, Harry," Draco smirked, shrugging on his shirt.

"Fucking is fucking is fucking," Harry added, staring wistfully at Draco's little tits before he buttoned himself and covered them up again.

And before Draco had stepped out the door, he'd added, "If you want it during the week, just give me some advance notice, and I should be able to move some clients around for you."

Harry had blinked at him.

"Stress doesn't just wait for Saturday, does it?" Draco said when Harry stood silent.

"Yes," he finally contributed. "No. I mean, stress. Right."

"See you Saturday," Draco had said on a smile and left.

Harry had seen him Saturday. And the next Wednesday night. And Saturday again. And Monday afternoon (complete with foot rub). And Saturday. And Tuesday night. And then half an hour on Thursday afternoon.

Et cetera.

It seemed like whenever Harry called, Draco made room for him. Harry had to wonder if he was angering his other clients. Although, honestly, Harry didn't really like wondering about them. He didn't care if they were angry. He didn't care if they got less of Draco because he was getting more.

As Draco had insisted, money was money was money, and that's how Harry looked at it. He was a paying client; what did it matter if half Draco's take-home pay came from Harry himself? He was providing Harry a very valuable service. He hadn't felt so relaxed and focused in weeks, maybe months.

Maybe years.

It wasn't like Harry was paying Draco _not_ to take other clients.

He just had…needs.

Voracious needs.

Apparently.

But the next week was so busy, Harry hardly sat down, much less had time for a phenomenal fuck. It seemed like every project he was overseeing came to fruition at once, and everyone wanted him there to hold their hands or cut their ribbons or direct construction or save something from utter failure.

He worked fourteen hour days five days in a row and nearly forgot about his own godson's tenth birthday party.

It was Kreacher, bless him, who reminded him he still hadn't bought a gift, so Harry spent two hours after a full day of work Friday trying to find the perfect thing. He settled on five less-than-perfect things to make up for the fact that he was an arsehole for almost forgetting entirely.

He showed up the next day at five-thirty, hopefully not looking like he'd hardly slept and risen at six a.m. to keep working. At least Andromeda didn't give him any funny looks when she led him inside to find the party already going.

Teddy wasn't even there to see him arrive, already out in the back garden flying around on Uncle George's wacky backward brooms. Although, Harry had been assured some did not fly backward but upside down instead, and others didn't fly at all but bounced on their ends like magical pogo sticks.

"Hermione Granger made an enormous bubble of safety magic," Andromeda explained as she led Harry over to where he was to deposit his gifts. "Ah, there she is," she declared as Hermione came into the room behind Harry. "She'll make a good mother, that one."

"Hermione," Harry said, pulling her into a tight hug.

"How are you, Harry?" she said, squeezing him.

They parted, and as Andromeda flitted away to a new room, Hermione rolled her eyes behind the old woman's back.

"She didn't mean anything by it," Harry said.

"Oh, I know. The assumption that one will become a mother is rather virulent. They never mean any harm, do they?" Hermione sighed.

"Is it too early for a stiff drink?" he smiled.

She took his hands in both her own. "Hardly," she announced, and together they wandered into the kitchen.

He said hello to Bill and Fleur and some friend or relative of Andromeda's before Hermione saved him with a cold bottle of beer.

"Do you want a glass?" she asked.

"Fuck no," he laughed and drank deeply from the bottle.

She laughed, sipped her own, and they made their way outside to watch the flying.

Which is when Harry saw him.

He was leaned against the house with his own bottle of beer, smiling serenely in the direction of the truly ridiculous flying that was going on.

Harry felt the flush heat his face almost immediately. And to his horror, his body responded in the way it had been so recently trained to as well.

Hermione was actually taking him by the elbow and attempting to drag him over to say hello, it seemed. Harry resisted, which she seemed to have expected, because she just applied extra pressure and whispered at him, "He doesn't bite, you know."

Harry swallowed the most obvious retort that came to mind (he still had the teeth marks on his arse) and painted on a polite smile.

"Malfoy, how are you?" Hermione said amiably.

Draco looked up, saw her first, and smiled dutifully. "Granger. I'm well. You?"

Then his eyes lit on Harry, and he smiled the most crookedly sexy, knowing smile Harry had ever seen.

"Draco," Harry began and then realized his slight faux pas and added a beat later, "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." He cleared his throat. "Malfoy."

Draco, the bastard, held his hand out for Harry to shake it. "Harry Potter Potter," he said. "How are you?"

 _It's Saturday, and I've got blue balls, you idiot,_ Harry couldn't help but think. Loudly.

"Oh God,…" Hermione moaned, suddenly looking past Draco's shoulder to where Ron was quite obviously cornered by a wildly gesticulating witch. "That's Frederica Bagman."

"Ludo Bagman's new wife?" Harry asked.

"The same," Hermione sighed. "She seems to have taken a distinct liking to Ron. I had hoped she wouldn't be here, but I suppose the damage is done."

"Are you going to rescue him?" Harry asked, hoping it didn't sound like he was attempting to be rid of her. Draco just shifted against the wall beside him. Even the way he shifted was vaguely sexual. Harry compressed his lips in annoyance.

"He does look beset, doesn't he?" Hermione said.

Harry looked at his friend. Ron was pasty, sweating, and wide-eyed, shifting from foot to foot like he had to pee. "Yes," Harry agreed.

Draco nodded sagely next to him, "Indeed," sipping his beer.

Hermione kissed Harry on the cheek, told him she'd find him again later, and was off, leaving Harry alone with Draco. Well, except for a dozen screaming ten year-olds and a smattering of overseeing adults not within earshot.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked him tightly.

Draco gave him a long look. "He's my cousin. I could ask _you_ why you didn't invite me yourself. It's not like you haven't had the opportunity."

"Yes, that would have been completely appropriate," Harry said. "Who _did_ invite you?"

Draco scoffed. "Teddy did."

Harry just looked at him.

"What, do you need proof? I'm afraid I didn't bring his Owl. I didn't think I'd need it to gain entrance, Potter. It's hardly legible anyway."

Harry sighed, realising he was being quite the arsehole and he didn't even know why. "Sorry," he murmured.

Draco sipped his beer, and Harry flinched when a wayward child came barreling toward him on a bouncing broom only to ricochet off Hermione's magic and back into the fray.

"What did you get him?" Harry asked.

Draco looked at him sideways. "It's supposed to be a surprise, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes and drank deeply. He was entirely too aware of Draco's long, relaxed body, of the physical closeness that meant he could smell Draco's unique cologne, hear his breathing, feel his warmth.

Harry was unceasingly aware that it was Saturday. Which made him then realise that Draco had come here knowing it was Saturday, too. Harry leaned against the side of the house and drank. A little girl with pig tails flying out in front of her face went zooming backward right in front of them. 

Harry chanced a sideways look at Draco next to him. It was beyond strange to be spending time with him and not paying for it. To not be touching him. To not be hurriedly undressing. To not have the goal of their acquaintance be a mind-blowing orgasm. Or three.

To just be…standing there next to him pretending they didn't primarily fuck as their main interaction these days.

That it wasn't bloody brilliant.

"You're staring, Potter," Draco said.

"I'm just trying to figure out what makes you such a git," Harry answered.

Draco snorted, hid his smile behind his beer bottle, and then sipped.

Harry's cock twitched.

_Bugger._

"So, how was your week?" Draco asked, squinting and seemingly watching the action at the far end of Hermione's bubble. "Busy?"

"Very," Harry answered. "Haven't had time to hear myself think. You?"

Then he could have kicked himself.

But Draco simply answered, "Pretty slow, actually."

Harry cleared his throat. "So, what do you do in your off hours?"

And blast but he'd really been looking forward to the answer when Andromeda took that moment to come out of the house and _Sonorus_ herself. "Time to come in!"

She brought the bubble down and the children abandoned their brooms in the garden in favour of running into the house en masse. 

"Harry! Draco! I'm opening my presents!" Teddy shouted as he ran past them, not even slowing or breaking stride.

Draco motioned for Harry to precede him through the door, and it was a lovely, awful thing, feeling Draco Malfoy at his back as they entered.

The divisive power of the crowd took over soon after, though, and before he knew it, Harry had been pulled into a conversation with Luna Lovegood, a slice of birthday cake thrust into his hand, and Draco was nowhere in sight. 

He got drawn into conversation with George and Angelina, then Frederica Bagman after which he soon developed unexplained (and fictitious) stomach pains and fled to the bathroom.

When he emerged once again, checking both ways down the hall first, the crowd had moved to the sitting room for Teddy to open his presents.

Draco was easy to spot then, lounging in the seat of the big bay window. Harry tried to make it look like he'd meandered over rather than bee-lining. 

But it was bee-lining.

"Hey," he said, sitting next to Draco on the bench.

"Hello, Potter," Draco drawled.

Their legs touched, and neither of them made to move away. Harry schooled his breathing.

The gift-opening began, and Harry made sure to watch as Teddy opened the gifts he'd bought for him and exclaimed mightily over each. Harry kept an eye out for Draco's gift as well, and was relieved and impressed when it turned out to be the newest in a book series Harry knew Teddy to be reading, _Agatha Dorsey: Adventures of a Metamorphmagus_ Draco had bought him book three, hot off the wizard presses.

"Omigod, omigod, omigod, thank you, Draco!" Teddy exclaimed, waving over the crowd of party-goers, his smile almost terrifyingly wide.

Draco gave a small wave and smile in return.

"That's a really good gift," Harry heard himself saying.

The sun was setting, and its blushing rays warmed the cool blond of Draco's hair, making it appear golden and warm. Harry found himself examining it, finding silver strands interwoven with the gold – a stubborn wave behind his left ear. Just there.

Draco looked at him, and their eyes met.

Harry gulped. "Do you have the time?"

Draco blinked, then he pulled his watch from his pocket. He looked down at it and then turned it and showed Harry the face. It was nearly seven-thirty.

"What were you planning on doing? Apparating straight there?" Harry asked in a near whisper. 

"Were you?" Draco countered.

He gave Harry a little smile and pocketed the watch. Together they watched Teddy finish opening his gifts. When he'd got through all of them and set to playing with the best of the lot with his friends, Draco leaned over and murmured in Harry's ear, his lips brushing the shell as he spoke, "Meet me around the side of the house, under the oak, in ten minutes." Then he stood up, wandered over to where Teddy was getting into an intense game of Exploding Snap, gave the boy's hair a tousle, and then sauntered into the kitchen and through the backdoor.

Harry sat there stunned for around three of the ten minutes. Then he gathered himself and got up, making his way over to say his goodbyes to Teddy.

"Awww," Teddy groaned. "You're leaving?"

"I'll see you again soon," Harry told him as Teddy stood and hugged him hard.

"For Uncle Ron's game against Puddlemere United!" Teddy grinned. Harry had gotten them tickets as one of his birthday gifts.

"Absolutely," Harry smiled back. He hugged Teddy to him again. "Happy birthday, Teddy."

"Thanks, Harry."

"Don't stay up too late making a racket with your friends, okay?"

Teddy frowned at him.

"Well, at least use _Muffliato_ like I taught you, all right?"

Teddy brightened back up. "All right!"

Then he was off firing fake hexes at his friends and scampering around the congregations of adults.

Harry made for the backdoor.

Somehow he sidestepped Hermione. It probably helped that she was knee-deep in white wine with Luna and Angelina and they were all laughing so hard they were in tears. Harry evaded Ron, too, who was, at the moment, too busy cringing from Bill sucker-punching him in the arm to observe Harry's escape.

Harry stepped out into the night, the west having gone an indigo-plum color that made the trees look black as pitch. He made his way along the dark path leading around the side of the house. He didn't dare cast a _Lumos_. He could hear his own breath and tightened his hands into fists momentarily to quell the anticipation.

Draco stood under the towering oak, a sleek black silhouette.

Harry walked up to him in the near-dark. He walked in close, but he didn't touch him. Merlin, he was _dying_ to touch him.

"Where to, Potter?"

"Call me Harry when I'm paying you, you insufferable bastard," Harry ground out.

Then he grabbed him, yanked him close, and Disapparated.

~~~

The moment they landed, they were on each other. Buttons ripped from their holes. Fabric was pushed from shoulders, silk left lying on the floor as they kissed everywhere but mouth to mouth and Harry walked Draco backward toward the door of his bedroom.

"Where are we, Potter?" Draco finally had the presence of mind to ask as his naked back hit a wall and Harry got his belt unfastened. "Is this-- Is this your house?"

"'Harry.' Say it," Harry growled into Draco's long neck, yanking his trousers open.

Harry's knuckles brushed against the hard ridge of Draco's cock, and he gasped it: "Harry…"

"Better," Harry breathed, kissing down Draco's chest and dropping down to his knees, intending to suck his cock there in the hall, unwilling to wait another moment.

Except Draco caught his shoulders and pulled him back up. His eyes were so very dark and hungry as their gazes locked. And just like that, Draco turned them and walked Harry through the doorway into his own bedroom, undressing him as they went.

"Am I the one paying or what?" Harry asked as Draco efficiently stripped him and backed him toward his bed.

"Shut up," Draco said. But there was nothing harsh in it, no tease at all. "Shut up, Harry," he nearly whispered. Then he shoved him back onto the bed where Harry fell on his naked arse, cock bobbing. Draco began to take off his trousers. "Lie down."

Harry swallowed and then scooted back into the bed, lying back into his pillows and watching Draco undress until he wore nothing. Harry let his eyes cast down over Draco's body as he climbed onto the bed and straddled Harry's hips. Draco's hands caressed up Harry's stomach, over his chest, and Draco leaned down to kiss his neck, up behind his ear, making Harry shiver, down his chest, raising Harry's arms and then burying his face there, too, nuzzling, kissing, coming back to Harry's throat and licking into the indentation, kissing his nipples, the slopes of his shoulders, nipping at Harry's ears and whispering his name: "Harry…"

Harry wanted to touch Draco everywhere, but when he reached to do so, Draco gently slapped his hands away. When Harry went to try again, Draco slapped him away again.

"What the fuck, Draco?"

"I could _Incarcerous_ you," Draco informed him.

"I could get out of it," Harry shot back.

Draco smiled.

Christ, he had a killer smile.

He took Harry's arms and he raised them over his head, molding Harry's hands around the slats in his headboard. Then he whispered a lubricating charm.

"Try again," Harry told him. "It didn't work."

Draco looked down at him, looked Harry in the eye, and said, "Yes, it did." He took Harry's cock in his hand, stroked it a few times, and then touched the head to his own arsehole.

He was slick and ready.

"Oh my God…" Harry breathed. He tightened his fists around the headboard reflexively as Draco slowly worked the head of Harry's cock inside himself, making controlled rolling movements with his hips and staring down at Harry all the while. "Draco…" Harry gasped.

Draco's lashes fluttered. Harry felt him open up, and Harry slid inside as Draco worked him in, licking his lips and beginning to pant quietly. Harry's toes curled as Draco sank down…and down…and down…

Until he was sitting in Harry's lap, and Harry was deep, deep inside him and throbbing. Harry gritted his teeth, flexed his buttocks, and heard Draco inhale sharply.

"God, you feel so good," Harry told him.

Draco planted his hands behind himself, arching slightly. He rolled his hips, head falling back. "You, too," he said so quietly Harry almost didn't make it out. But the ending was clear. "Harry…"

Draco began to ride him slowly. He kept Harry's cock deep and began a sensuous rhythm. Harry's hands tightened around the slats. "I want to touch you," he said. And when Draco, lost in his own pleasure, didn't respond, "Draco."

Draco's eyes opened, and he looked down at Harry.

"I need to touch you," Harry told him.

A little frown creased his brows, but he nodded his head.

Harry unclenched his fists and rested his hands on Draco's hips. Draco bit his lip and moved on him. Harry felt the movement in the palms of his hands, against the gentle grip of his fingers, and it was almost as erotic as being buried inside him. Draco's skin was soft over tensed muscles. His body moved with the fluidity of a dancer. His stomach flexed under Harry's thumbs.

"Hold still for a second," Harry murmured to the detriment of his own cock. The movement was sublime, after all. Draco's stillness just increased his ache, his need for friction. But there was something Harry wanted just as much.

He moved his hands until he was cupping Draco's arse. It was a marvel of contradictions: smooth, soft skin over firm muscles trembling with restraint. Harry felt further then. He reached the point at which they were joined and let his fingers explore the stretch of Draco's hole around his own girth.

Draco gasped hard, panting. Harry felt his small muscles rippling, twitching, as they squeezed down on his cock. He ran one finger back and forth over where they were connected and watched Draco blush with arousal. Harry moved his hands back to Draco's arse, cupping and massaging it. Without being told, Draco began moving again, leaning slightly forward now and resting his own hands on Harry's body. He rose up higher, coming down harder, fucking a little faster.

Harry ran his hands up his back, and Draco closed his eyes. He leaned forward just enough for his cock to rub along Harry's stomach. Harry dropped his hands to Draco's hips and thrust up on Draco's downstroke.

And bloody hell, the sound that came out of Draco Malfoy… Harry had to make him do that again. So he thrust up whenever Draco fucked himself down on Harry's cock. They worked up a good rhythm, both panting. Draco opened his eyes and looked down into Harry's face. His hands were warm against Harry's chest, fingers alive and grasping.

Harry kept fucking but wrapped one arm low around Draco's back so he could stroke his cock with the other.

"Harry…" Draco cried when Harry started wanking him. "Harry, I'll come."

"Then come," Harry told him. 

He swiped his thumb over the slit of Draco's cock and felt it happen. Draco spilled over his fist, his arse massaging Harry's cock, and he cried Harry's name.

He sagged forward, into Harry's body, whispering Harry's name into his chest as he came.

Harry held him – his trembling, spent, lithe body – and Draco was so warm. Nobody would have guessed at the warmth in him. His moist breath huffed out against Harry's nipple, and his hips stilled, and Harry hurt with how good he felt. He _hurt_.

So he wrapped both arms around Draco and he flipped them, coming to lie atop him, still inside. Draco wrapped his legs around Harry's waist. Harry looked down at him – at Draco's pillowed head, his hair in complete un-Malfoyed disarray. "Can I come inside you?"

What Harry saw then threatened to overturn the entire paradigm on which he'd built his life. A single tear slid from the corner of Draco's eye as he nodded, as his hands came up and moved along Harry's back. "Please," he whispered. "Please… Harry…"

Harry didn't feel it in his cock; his cock was already busy. He felt it inside his chest – deep and terrifying. Like something was breaking. Like something had opened that he'd never be able to close again.

He held Draco in his arms and started thrusting. He didn't have great leverage; his knees were slipping on the sheets. But he didn't dare let go of the body under him. He could feel Draco's hammering heart, and he stayed deep inside his body as he fucked so he could feel it all – Draco all around him, all of him focused down into this person looking up at him like…

…like he felt the same.

Merlin. It had happened.

Harry had gone and fallen in love with him.

He brought one hand up to cup Draco's face. He felt the track of that one tear as Draco blinked up at him. He looked at Harry's lips. Then he wrapped a hand around Harry's head and pulled him down until they were kissing.

Draco's lips opened, and his tongue pressed tentatively into Harry's mouth. Harry was too shocked at first to kiss him back, but Draco's fingers were threading into his hair, and his mouth was warm and wonderful.

Harry gasped away, looking down at Draco in shock. He wanted to say the words: _You don't kiss._ But they stuck in his mind and in his throat. And Draco was looking at him like he was almost afraid of what he'd done. Before Harry had really even decided to, he crashed his lips down on Draco's and was meeting Draco's tongue with his own, and they were deepening the kiss, moaning into it, and Harry was fucking him, and Draco Malfoy was this open, beautiful thing that Harry _loved_.

Harry came from that kiss. He felt it rise up in him, and it spilled over into Draco's body beneath him, and Harry again gasped out of the kiss to pant his release as Draco's hands roamed his body, assuring him, his legs tightening, lips moving to Harry's cheek before he pulled him down and held him, Harry's face in Draco's neck, as he shot the last of it inside him, shuddering.

 

The light was gone, and the moon was high, and the tips of Harry's fingers moved slowly over Draco's shoulder and back where he lay against Harry, his head on Harry's chest.

"Tickles," Draco murmured sleepily.

"Sorry." He moved his hand.

"Don't stop. Just don't tickle. Firmer," Draco groused.

Harry smiled and put his hand back on Draco's body.

"So, you didn't answer me," Harry whispered. The night was so still and soft; it felt like a sacrilege to even speak.

"What was the question?" Draco asked, barely moving his lips against Harry's skin.

"What do you like to do…when you're not working?"

Draco inhaled. He scooted his hips in closer, pressing his soft cock against Harry's thigh, his own leg thrown over Harry's. "I read a lot."

"Do you ever play Quidditch?"

"With who?"

 _With who._ The question struck Harry as unutterably sad.

"With me? Sometime?"

The sound Draco made then was like a laugh but not a cruel one.

"What about magic?" Harry asked.

"What about it?"

"I dunno." He shrugged, moving Draco's body with the gesture. "I guess I miss it. Maybe I'm just looking for a dueling partner. You know…for fun."

"And if I hex you, you'll consider that fun?"

"Well…yeah," Harry answered.

Draco sighed. "Okay."

They lay there for several minutes, Harry just marvelling that he could hold him like this. Then he asked, "What do you like to read?" He seemed, suddenly, voracious for all things Draco Malfoy. It was a rather familiar feeling but much, much more pleasurable a pursuit than ever before.

Draco licked his lips. "Mmm," he replied. "Everything."

"Do you have a flat?"

"Mmhmm."

"Do you…ever take clients there?"

"Mmno," Draco replied. "But I could make an exception."

Harry stared up at the ceiling and stroked Draco's hair. He seemed to enjoy it, because he very nearly purred. "I'd like that," Harry whispered.

The path of the moon shone itself through the room, casting refracted light over their bodies. Harry concentrated his magic and with a wave of his free hand brushed the drapes closed another few inches so that the light didn't touch Draco's face. His lips had parted, and he was very relaxed against Harry's body.

Harry didn't know how long they lay like that before he asked, "Will you go to the anniversary ball with me?" 

Draco's silence sat in the room like an indictment.

Harry swallowed and added, "Like…a date?"

Still nothing.

Until…

Draco began to snore.

Harry lifted his head to look down at him. His lashes lay against his cheeks. He looked like a boy again. 

Harry lay his head back down and stared at the ceiling, smiling, until he, too, closed his eyes, and with Draco Malfoy snug against his tired body, Harry fell asleep.

~~~

Harry nudged the door open with his foot and entered with the tray of food. Draco was still sleeping, even at nearly ten a.m. and Harry had to smile at the picture he made: naked with the sheet flung over his lower half, one bony hipbone peeking out and tempting Harry's lips.

Harry thought about putting the food under a good stasis charm and going down on Draco first – like he had wanted to do last night in the hall before Draco…

Before he let Harry make love to him.

Merlin's pants.

Harry shook his head more to release the fog the memory put on his senses than to eradicate the memory itself. He wanted to remember what it felt like to kiss Draco for the rest of his natural life. Just in case.

So, Harry set the tray on the nightstand and gently shook Draco's shoulder to wake him.

"Hey," he murmured.

"Mmm?" Draco grunted. "What is it?" He squinted just one eye open, lifting his mussed head off the pillow.

"What it is is morning, you knackered tart." Harry ran the backs of his fingers over Draco's forehead, pushing back a stray lock of hair.

"Oh," Draco said. "Smells good."

"That would be the Kreacher Special: two poached eggs and pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream."

"It's morning, you say?" Now both eyes were squinting.

Harry couldn't contain a bit of a chuckle at his expense. "Yes. It's morning. I take it you are not a morning person." Harry wanted to kiss him again. He wanted it so badly.

"Mmff," Draco grunted. "No." He sat up and rubbed his eyes with the butts of his hands. The sheet slipped, though, and Harry couldn't help taking a nice long stare at his soft prick.

God, he had to get a hold of himself. He'd probably scare the life out of Draco, mooning over his body and bringing him breakfast like they were lovers. Harry stood and cleared his throat, resolving to at least aim for a bit of professional distance. 

"Well, take your time," Harry said. "I'm good for it."

Draco frowned at him in incomprehension. "What?"

"Well, I'm not wonderful with maths, but I'll figure it out eventually. Or do you have a flat fee for stay-overs?"

And though Harry was serious about the money, he'd meant to sound teasingly joking, yet Draco's frown deepened.

"I fell asleep," he said.

"Yes, I know," Harry said, smiling. "Half on top of me. You were hard to miss."

"But… What are you saying? You're going to _pay_ me for sleeping here? For eating your elf's breakfast?"

"Well…" Harry stammered, "that is how it works, isn't it?" For the first time, he felt an uneasy clenching in his gut. This was not going as he'd intended.

Draco threw the sheet off of himself and forced Harry to step back from the bed as he stood. "Fine. Right," Draco said. "I'm not hungry, though. Let's just settle it."

"But just a moment ago you were saying it smelled good," Harry said. He felt utterly confused. Confused and now scared, too. He hurried to amend his error, whatever it was. "Look, Draco, stay and eat and—" He took Draco by the wrist, but Draco yanked it away and started gathering his clothes.

"I'd rather not," he said.

"Draco," Harry nearly pleaded. "What are you on about? It's breakfast. We don't have to… It doesn't have to be…"

"You enjoy it then, Potter."

 _Potter._ Shit. 

Shit, oh shit, oh _shit_.

"Draco, stop. What have I done?"

He was in his trousers and trying to find his shirt. He scoffed, "I should have known."

"Should have known what? Bloody stop trying to leave and face me!" Harry nearly shouted. He wasn't angry; he was bloody scared. But it sounded angry somehow. Angry rather than desperate. He was desperate to keep Draco there, yet all of his words seemed to come out wrong.

Draco whirled on him. "It's four hundred for the fuck. I don't want your money for the rest of the night." His jaw was tight, his eyes hard as river stones, dark and dangerous.

Harry flinched. It felt like Draco had punched him in the stomach, reached into his body, and stolen something from inside him. Numbly, Harry fumbled in his trouser pocket for his wallet. He pulled out four hundred pounds and handed it over.

Draco snatched it away and finished dressing while Harry sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

"Where's the Apparition point?" Draco asked tightly once he'd dressed.

Harry stood and led them into the hall and to the spot in front of Regulus Black's old room. He turned to Draco and, after a brief hesitation, touched his wrist. Draco didn't yank it away this time.

"I'm sorry," Harry told him, his chest going tight. "Draco, please…"

He saw his own emotion reflected in Draco's eyes for but a moment. He saw that firm lip quiver. Then Draco pulled his wrist free, and he Disapparated.

Harry leaned his shoulder against the wall and stared at a dust mote on the floor until his vision blurred.

~~~

Three weeks.

Three bloody weeks and nothing from Draco Malfoy.

Harry had called the agency, of course, but all they would tell him was that Draco was away. 

"Do you have any idea when he'll return?" Harry had tried.

"We're very sorry for the inconvenience, sir. Would you like to schedule with someone else in the meantime?"

"No. Thank you," he said in a daze before he hung up.

He had a lot of money, and with money came influence, power, resources. He could have tracked Draco down. He thought about it. But if Draco didn't want to talk to him, being found might have the opposite effect that Harry was hoping for.

By the third week, Harry had to face that he may have fucked up beyond repair, that for whatever reason, Draco was now shut of him.

For whatever reason… Harry was pretty sure he understood the reason now, though not the man himself. Draco had been offended that Harry had tried to pay him. Even though that was precisely their arrangement. Gods, the very thing Harry had done to try to make him feel _better_ had ruined everything. He felt like a massive bastard. And the worst part was not being able to tell Draco that he knew he was one.

All Harry could do was work. So that's what he did. He threw himself into it, working long hours, and when he wasn't working, he was finding ways to numb himself to the thought of Draco. To the feelings those thoughts aroused.

He got a lot done. If there was a bright side, that was it. He'd never been so caught up on his paperwork, and from the outside, he was sure he looked fine. His face was in the papers weekly, and he always looked like he was fine. A little scruffy, but fine. The captions assumed he was better than ever.

Nobody knew how wrecked he felt – that he'd gone and fallen in love with Draco Malfoy and just hours later lost him.

For once in his life, Harry didn't see a way to the right answer. Draco was the ultimate Golden Egg, and Harry had no one to give him any hints. So he let his insides scream and scream and scream, until he was too tired to scream anymore. Work helped with that, too.

Work helped with everything.

Work meant he was still useful. That his life after defeating Voldemort _meant_ something. That he was never alone.

Except when he was. And that's what Dreamless Sleep was for.

He'd awakened from one such drugged night and dragged himself to the bathroom to shave and get ready for yet another tireless day when Kreacher Apparated straight into the bathroom.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed.

"Master needs to come at once," Kreacher said, and something in his voice had Harry's insides in instant knots. He Vanished the shaving cream from his hands, grabbed his shirt from where it hung on the doorknob, and threw it on as he ran from the room.

With every step, all he could see was Draco. Draco roughed up by nefarious clients. Draco meeting the working end of a wand over something or other. 

Draco hurt.

Kreacher Apparated at the bottom of the stairs just as Harry arrived, breathless from the images that crept up in front of his mind's eye.

"The study," Kreacher said.

Harry half-ran into the room only to find…

"Dean? Are you--? Dear God."

Dean Thomas stood in front of his Floo, his hands shaking badly, a deep cut down his arm, dripping blood onto the floor.

"You need to get to the hospital," Harry told him. "What happened?" He was a terrible friend, because the first thing he felt was sick relief. It wasn't Draco. It was Dean, and he was hurt, but he'd be okay. Everything would be okay.

"I'm all right," Dean told him, his throat obviously very dry. "It's not me. I'm not—" Then he exhaled her name, "Hermione."

Harry felt like the world tunnelled inward, like some vertigo took hold of him and held him out over a gaping ravine. "What?" he said.

"The mission went wrong," Dean said, voice wavering with tears. "It-- She—"

"Is she alive?" Harry said, hearing his steady voice as if from outside the room.

Dean nodded, and Harry exhaled hard. He hadn't realised he wasn't breathing.

"She's at St. Mungo's. Harry, she's-- It's bad. I tried-- I tried to—" He opened his hands as if Hermione should be where there was now only empty air. Harry watched two tears fall down his face.

"Okay," Harry said. "It's all right. Let's go. You need to have that treated, and I need to—" Harry's voice caught, and he shook himself. "Come on. Can you Floo all right?"

"Yes."

"Then you first. I'll be just behind you."

She was on the fourth floor, and Harry tried not to let that knowledge undo him. Still, seeing the sign on the big double doors -- _Spell Damage_ \-- was like someone had kicked him in the chest.

Harry turned to Dean at the doors. "Dean, you need to go see to that." At his continued balking, Harry went on, "You're her partner. She doesn't want you bleeding out, all right?"

Reluctantly, Dean nodded.

Harry stopped him, though, before he walked away.

"This wasn't your fault."

Dean's face became a horrible show of pain for that moment, but then he seemed to swallow it down. "Yeah. All right," he said, then, cradling his injured arm, he walked down the hall and to the lifts.

Harry turned back to the ominous doors – and he walked through.

Her room was at the end of a long hall. It had 'Critical Care' written on the door and under that, 'Granger, Hermione'. Harry took a shaky breath and opened the door.

The room was brightly lit, almost frighteningly so. Beside the bed sat Ron. He was holding her hand in his two, and though he made no sound, tears streamed steadily down his cheeks. He looked utterly haunted.

Harry's eyes went to her then. Her own were closed in her unconsciousness. She was hooked up to some kind of equipment that seemed to be draining a thick green fluid from her chest. A nurse and a Healer were both in the room, the former checking the drainage while the latter ran a wand over her body from head to foot and then made notes in a chart.

"Ron," Harry said when he finally managed to find his voice.

Ron looked up, dazed and appearing not even to know Harry for several moments. Harry watched recognition dawn – just before his friend broke into sobs, and he just laid his head down on the bed next to their joined hands.

Harry moved to his side, dropped to his knees, and embraced him.

"Harry," Ron cried into his shoulder, still not releasing her hand. 

"God, Ron. I'm here. I'm here," Harry said to him softly. "What happened?"

Ron lifted his head and looked at Hermione's ethereally still body on the bed. "An unknown spell. It's her lungs. They—" He stopped and couldn't keep going, and as he laid his head down next to their hands again, the Healer stepped up to Harry's side.

"Can I speak with you for a moment?" 

Harry was stunned to find that it was Angelina -- that it had been her in the room the whole time. He just hadn't seen, hadn't paid attention.

Harry stood, and she led him to the other side of the room. She spoke in a hushed but calm voice. "Her lungs are filled with fluid. We're draining it, but they always fill again. It's putting a tremendous strain on her other systems."

"What else can you do?" Harry asked, not bothering to be quiet. He _couldn't_ be quiet. "What do you need? Better equipment?"

Angelina shook her head. "This is the most advanced equipment in the world. Harry, you paid for it. It's not the equipment."

"Well, what then?" Harry almost shouted. He could feel the fear pushing up from his diaphragm, threatening to choke him.

"Shh," the nurse admonished from beside the bed. She'd turned the lights to dim. Ron's back shook where he lay slumped by Hermione's side.

Angelina drew Harry out into the hall. "I know this is hard, but we're doing everything we can." When Harry opened his mouth to interrupt, she raised her voice to talk over him. "We have the best in spell damage all working on her case around the clock. The Aurors are out in force. They _will_ find the wizard who did this. And we _will_ find a way to cure her, Harry, I promise."

"How can you promise?" he asked. "How can you say that? There must be something I can do! There must be something I can _do_!"

"You can be strong for your friends," Angelina told him. "George and Arthur and Molly are on their way."

"What about Ginny?"

"Taking a portkey from the States. She'll be here tonight, too, along with Charlie. Bill and Fleur are watching the kids."

"Her parents?"

"Flying in from Sydney."

"What--?" Harry began helplessly. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You're welcome to stay here," she told him. "The visitor's room is just there. You can Transfigure anything you like. But honestly, Harry? If you can get Ron to use it, that's what I'd ask you to do. He's going to need to rest eventually, and he won't let go of her hand."

Harry nodded. "Okay. Yeah. I can do that." He sniffed, and she rubbed his arm. "Okay."

"I need to have the substance analysed now. Feel free to spend some time with them," she said.

Harry nodded.

She began to walk down the hall away from him.

"Angelina?"

"Yes?"

Harry swallowed. "Thank you."

She gave him a sad smile, nodded, and walked away.

Harry turned back to the door, and at the sight of Hermione's name, doubled over to keep from weeping.

 

Two days and Harry had only been able to get Ron to sleep in a bed Transfigured a few feet away. At least it was something. 

Harry hardly left his side. He only did so to get a Healer for updates, get Ron something to drink (which he staunchly refused), or try to catch a short nap himself. But he never slept. It had been over fifty hours since he'd walked into the hospital room, and Harry guessed he'd slept for possibly forty-five minutes.

He was sitting in a chair on one side of Hermione's bed, Ron on the other. The others were in the cafeteria getting dinner, and Ginny had promised to bring up some broth for the both of them when she returned. So it was she that Harry expected when he heard the door come open.

When he looked up, it wasn't his face Harry had expected. His hand lit on Harry's shoulder, and it hit him full-force before Harry could stop it. 

Harry stood from the chair, and Draco immediately wrapped his arms around him.

"I came as soon as I heard," he said, his arms tightening, his worried voice in Harry's ear. 

Harry let himself feel the arms around him, the immersion of wonderful warmth, the simple grace he offered. He inhaled the scent of him, spicy and perfect. Then, with extraordinary effort, he pulled out of Draco's embrace, though he couldn't help but stay close. It was pure gravity.

"Weasley," Draco said quietly then with a small nod in Ron's direction.

Ron said nothing, but he nodded back before resting his head back against his chair, his eyes back on Hermione's face.

Before Harry could even look at Draco again, the rest of the Weasley clan entered the room, back from dinner.

"Hello, Draco," Molly said softly, her eyes red and puffy. Arthur shook his hand. Ginny just looked at Draco and then at Harry, handing Harry his unwanted broth before going to her brother's side, kneeling, and whispering something. As Harry watched Ron take the cup, he breathed an inward sigh of relief. Whatever she'd said had worked enough for him to take a valiant sip.

Draco took his elbow and pulled him away slightly. "You need to go home."

"No." Harry shook his head. "Ron needs me. Hermione—"

"You need to go home and sleep, Harry."

Harry looked at him, then. Looked into his worried eyes. He was suddenly so tired. Merlin, so fucking tired. He found himself nodding.

"I have to tell them," Harry said.

Draco nodded and stood by the door silently as Harry hugged Mr and Mrs Weasley, as he said goodbye to Charlie and Ginny, handing her back the broth, as he squeezed Ron's shoulder and told him he'd be back soon.

Then Harry joined Draco again by the door.

"Malfoy," Ron's voice came.

"Yes?" Draco said with a frown.

"See that he gets home all right." Ron's gaze never left Hermione's face.

"I will," Draco answered. Then he put his hand on the small of Harry's back. "C'mon."

They walked to the cafeteria Floo in silence, Draco's hand never leaving him, always guiding. Harry drew strength from it, from the warm place it made on his chilled body. Harry went through the Floo network first, closing his eyes and waiting for the familiar feeling of home to envelope him. He stepped out into his study and stood, waiting, as the fire lit green just behind him and Draco stepped through the flames.

Harry could feel it. He could already feel it coiling within him, and he wasn't going to be able to control it for much longer.

He didn't care where Draco had been. He didn't care if he looked the fool. Nothing mattered but this.

He turned to Draco, his lip trembling, and said, "Stay?"

Draco blinked at him.

Harry just held his gaze even though it hurt to do so, and he tugged his own shirt up over his head and let it drop to the floor. He toed off his shoes, almost too exhausted to even manage it, and Draco stood there frowning at him. Harry took off his socks and then took down his trousers, finally standing there in his boxers, feeling like a boy again.

A scared boy on the verge of losing another piece of his heart.

"Harry…" Draco began, but Harry interrupted him even as a tear fell down his own cheek.

"I know I've been horrid. I know that."

Draco shook his head. 

"Please," Harry said, biting his lip to stop the thing rising up inside. "Please. Just stay with me. Please?"

Draco slowly nodded, and Harry let out his breath as he began to disrobe.

He didn't watch as Draco's beautiful body was revealed. He just turned to the sofa and lay down on his side, pulling the blanket from the back and wrapping it around himself. He was quite cold, he realised. He was shivering.

When Draco finished, standing naked before him, Harry said nothing. He just held out his hand from underneath the blanket. Draco strode over and took it. 

He climbed onto the sofa, wedging himself between Harry's back and the cushions. He pulled the blanket over the both of them, and his arm came around Harry's body, pulling him close. 

At the touch, Harry closed his eyes. He held his breath. He held it in.

Draco's lips found his hair. He whispered Harry's name, arm tightening around him. "I've got you," he said. "I've got you, Harry."

And, at that, Harry began to sob. He shook with it. Draco shushed into his hair, even though everything about him told Harry that it was okay, that he could cry now, that it was safe to. Draco doused the lights with a wave. With another, he started a fire in the hearth, warming the room and quelling Harry's shivers.

"It's going to be all right," Draco said to him as he broke. "It's going to be all right."

The fire crackled and the room grew dark with night. Draco whispered things into his hair and held him close. Harry's sobs finally stopped. Everything stopped, even time. There was only the warmth at his back, the strong arm around him, a heart beating close by. And Harry, finally, slept.

 

He woke to the smell of fresh coffee and Draco setting down a tray on his coffee table.

"What time is it? Is Hermione okay?" Harry said, sitting up and flinging the blanket off.

"There's no change." At Harry's questioning look, Draco explained, "The Weaslette fire-called about an hour ago."

"And that didn't wake me?" Harry scrubbed at his head.

"You needed to sleep," Draco answered.

"You spoke to Ginny?"

Draco smirked slightly. "Scared?"

At Harry's searching look, Draco just gestured to the coffee, a plate of hot, buttered toast beside it.

Harry took a mug and sipped, letting the steam warm him.

Draco sat on the coffee table, his own coffee mug in hand. "How are you?"

Harry met Draco's eyes briefly. "Wrung out," he said. "But better."

Draco dropped his gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry," he said. "About how I left before. And I'm…" He stalled and then looked up, meeting Harry's eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you. That was… I was…" He dropped his gaze again, frowning at the carpet. "…confused."

Harry's heart sped up. "What were you confused about?"

"Are you insinuating there was nothing to _be_ confused about or are you genuinely asking?"

"I'm genuinely asking, Draco."

Draco gave him a small smile, setting his coffee to the side. Then he cleared his throat, gathering himself. But before he could speak, Harry blurted, "Is that what you were wearing last night?" Because he was once again dressed. Harry couldn't help but wonder how he took the Floo call: like he was? wrapped in a blanket? starkers?

Draco looked down at himself, at his white t-shirt and dark jeans. "Yes. Do you not remember?"

"I was distraught," Harry replied. "I've never seen you wear anything but a waistcoat or robes before."

Draco blushed. "I was in a bit of a hurry."

Harry gave him a shy smile. "It's sexy," he said and sipped his coffee. "But I interrupted. What were you confused about?"

Draco sighed. "You say that like I've got it all figured out now."

"No, I don't."

"Yes," Draco corrected, "you do. And Christ, I shouldn't be talking about this right now. Not with—" He waved his hand toward the Floo as if to indicate Hermione and the hospital and Harry's pain, all in one.

"I've been worried bloody sick, Malfoy," Harry told him. "It's been three weeks." He felt immediately sorry for using his last name, but he couldn't take it back.

"I know how long it's been," Draco gritted out. "It was the same amount of time for me, too, you know." He sighed hard, and his nostrils flared, and he looked so beautiful like that – angry and helpless. "I'm fucked up, Harry. Or is this news to you? Do you think I sleep in my clients' arms? Do you think I let them come inside me? Do you think I let them kiss—"

Harry moved quickly, unthinking, leaning forward and taking Draco's face in his hands and sealing their lips together. He held the chaste kiss for long seconds before he released Draco, hands still on his face. "Like that?"

Harry's pulse beat hard at his skin like it wanted to break free. He looked into Draco's eyes, watched them dilate, watched the shallow breaths he took.

"Harry…"

Harry brushed his thumbs along his jaw. He was leaning in to kiss him once more when the Floo roared to life and George Weasley stumbled through.

Harry and Draco both stood quickly.

"George, what's happened?" Harry said.

George looked at one and then the other of them. He smiled. "You'll want to put some trousers on, Harry. She's awake."

~~~

Harry fiddled with the bow tie, and Hermione, once again, reached over and batted his hand down.

"It's crooked," he complained.

"It's not crooked."

"I can feel it."

"Oh you cannot."

He sighed. He didn't really know why he cared. He detested the whole idea, the very premise of this ball, and he certainly didn't have anyone here he wanted to impress particularly. He really just wanted to go home, put on the telly, and relax in his pyjamas.

Or maybe read a good book.

He was, after all, the proud new owner of the tiniest wizarding bookstore known to humankind. It happened to have no books in it yet, and he didn't plan to stay the owner for long. But, all in all, he figured he'd better read up. The idea certainly suited him better than being here, sweating his "speech" in his crooked bow tie.

Harry turned and scanned the entrance to the ballroom for the fourteenth time. When he turned back around, Hermione was looking at him with something like pity.

"He'll come," she said.

"No, he won't," Harry answered. "If there's a wizard in the world with more reason to hate this thing than me, it's him."

"He's not going to come for _this_ ," she chided him. "He'll show up for _you_ , Harry." She bit her lip then. "It's _my_ date you should be worried about."

"Don't worry," Harry told her, grateful for the swift change in subject. "He took his dress robes to the match with him. I'm sure he'll make it."

"I just hope he remembers to shower first," Hermione sighed. 

"So," he said, sipping champagne that had gone flat. "Are you going to take it? You know I'm dying to know, and you haven't said, you insufferable tease. It's been a month since they offered it to you."

Hermione rested her chin in her hand. She smiled. "I still think Ron paid somebody off."

"Hardly," Harry scoffed. "He's practically become a walking public service announcement for a woman's right to put off children for her career. Didn't you say he nearly took Bill's head off for asking when you were going to start a family?"

She laughed. "He's such a prat. And he's just overcompensating because of what happened."

"He loves you. He wants you to be happy. Do you think you could be happy as Head Auror?"

"Well," she said. "It is drastically less time in the field…plenty _more_ time planning operations."

"Which you would love."

She smiled, but there was something noncommittal in it.

"It's more money," Harry added.

"I don't care about that." She sighed. "Harry, can I ask you something?"

"Anything." 

"Do you think I can do it?"

At that he relaxed. "I have no doubt. I mean, bloody hell, if they'd had somebody as good as you planning that operation in the first place, maybe you wouldn't have been injured at all. I mean, that _was_ one of the rationales for the promotion, wasn't it?" At her continued fretting, he went on. "Hermione, you'll be amazing. If it's what you want."

She smiled at him. "Thank you. I still haven't decided. But that's not going to happen tonight. Oh! I was supposed to ask you before we left. Did you bring your speech?"

"Oh God," Harry groaned. "I hate this. I bloody hate this."

"Did you?"

"Such that it is. Hermione, it's half a page."

"Just get up there and say what's in your heart."

He downed the rest of his drink, and more materialised in the glass, bubbling and fizzing away. He looked at the entry again.

"He's coming," Hermione repeated.

Harry sighed. "He's not."

"How long has it been?"

"Since the day you woke up in hospital." He cleared his throat. "He left as soon as he possibly could."

"To see his parents," she argued.

"Maybe," Harry allowed.

"What do you mean, maybe? Kreacher's been spying on him for you, hasn't he?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Not on my orders, you know. That elf's a bloody menace."

"The point is, Draco is with his parents, like he said."

"Yes, in his _note_ ," Harry emphasised.

"It's something," Hermione assured him. She laid her hand over his on the table. Then, "Merlin, Harry, you should have seen the way he looked at you at Teddy's party. And there I thought I'd have to bribe you both to start seeing each other. Some matchmaker I am. You were already _paying_ him."

Harry couldn't help a little grin at that. "I can't believe you were trying to set us up. At Teddy's party. Really, Hermione."

"You must have been laughing behind your hands at me," she said, flushing.

He turned his hand over in hers and squeezed. "Not at all." Then, not meeting her eyes, "How did he look at me?"

He could feel her smiling even though he didn't dare look up. "Indecently," she said. "Worshipfully."

"What, both?" he laughed. But his heart was pounding. He wanted to check the door again.

"Look at me, Harry."

Begrudgingly, he did.

"Yes," she said. "Both." Then again, "He'll be here." She bit her lip. "But for fuck's sake where is—"

Harry watched her eyes sparkle at something over his shoulder, and he knew he needn't ask. 

"Git," she said.

"I'm here, aren't I? I even showered!" Ron said, coming around and sitting next to his wife. Then, "Bloody hell."

"What?"

"You look… Bloody hell, right Harry?"

Harry nodded. "Indeed." She was a vision in her midnight blue gown and her hair swept up off her neck. Harry resisted the urge to tug at his own tie again. He didn't have time to worry about it too much, because just then Kingsley Shacklebolt _Sonorused_ his voice to get the attention of the crowd, the ballroom fell into a hush, and Harry's introduction began.

He looked longingly at the entryway door one last time and then, when his name was announced, he stood, straightening his suit jacket.

Everyone else stood as well, giving him an impromptu standing ovation. Ron clapped him on the back as he strode by toward the dais and the podium. Hermione smiled and mouthed, "Your heart." He nodded at her, gulping.

He passed tables full of his friends, his former Hogwarts professors, witches and wizards he'd seen around the Ministry but who he didn't know personally. It seemed everyone was there. Harry smiled perfunctorily at most of them, more genuinely when Neville slapped him on the back, and he proceeded up to the lectern.

Harry waited until the applause died down, finally having to raise his hands and gesture that it was enough. When the audience began taking its seats again, he cleared his throat. He dug his half a page out of his pocket and smoothed the wrinkled parchment out on the podium in front of him.

"Thank you, esteemed witches and wizards," he began. "Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt, for the flattering introduction and for your continued work on the behalf of magical peoples everywhere." He cleared his throat once more and then spoke to the crowd. "I want to thank my friends for coming out tonight to support me. I assure you I'll remember all of your faces and hex you appropriately when you're least expecting it."

A chorus of laughter went up from the crowd, and Harry smiled awkwardly. He touched the plaque that Kingsley had left on the podium for him to accept. It was very fine – heavy and magically fortified to never tarnish. Harry felt a rush of relief that he'd been able to talk them out of the statue of his likeness they'd been planning instead. 

He looked up again and let his gaze travel the room. He couldn't help feeling guilty. There were real heroes in the audience: his friends, those that fought even when it meant they might lose everything, those who were tortured yet kept their silence, those that spoke out against that torture only to fall victim, too.

There were, it seemed, people more deserving than he. Or as deserving at least.

Harry swallowed against the feeling that this was all wrong.

He opened his mouth to speak. "The Ministry of Magic has always been a…a support to…" He licked his lips and revised on the spot. "When the magical community has the true support of a strong and egalitarian Ministry…" Merlin, what was he supposed to say? The Ministry was fucked up and everybody knew it. He remembered countless conversations with Kingsley, some over several pints, about the flaws in Ministry policy, about his disillusionment upon taking the position and realising that it was much more one of a figurehead than one with the authority to make the kind of changes Kingsley wanted.

And the Ministry was now giving Harry this award. For what? For living out his destiny? For fighting Voldemort his whole teenaged life along with his friends with next to no Ministry support? At best it had been incompetent and bogged down in its own red tape. At worst it had been corrupt, bought out, fighting against them. And it had not made reparations. It had absorbed all the good they'd done and now spat out this trophy in thanks.

Harry cast a guilty look Kingsley's way. This was a man he considered his friend, a mentor even. They'd worked together on the library project. Harry gulped. He looked back out at the audience which waited silently for his words of wisdom.

That's when the entry door at the back of the room opened, and…

Harry would recognise that pompous blond head anywhere -- though he stepped into the ballroom looking anything but arrogant. Draco looked around, closing the door quietly behind himself, and then, suddenly realising where everyone else was looking, blinked and found Harry staring at him from the dais. Harry watched Draco swallow.

He'd come.

The beautiful git had come.

Hermione had been right. As usual.

Harry had to fight the urge to just jump down off the platform and run to him. He, at once, fought and gave in to the emotions coursing through his body. He gave Draco a small, grateful smile, and, of course, everyone in the room turned to see where his gaze had landed. There were murmurs, quiet gasps, the whispering of his name around the room.

 _Draco **Malfoy**_.

Even said with disdain, the name was music to Harry's ears.

Draco just ignored them and leaned back against the wall beside the door until they left off. Harry cleared his throat, and heads slowly swiveled back around to where he stood, completely unready to give his barmy speech.

Except that maybe it wasn't so barmy.

And maybe, now, he was ready.

He sent out a silent apology to the good people he knew who worked there and then began:

"The Ministry has gifted me with this lovely plaque," Harry said, "but it hasn't done near enough to heal the wounds of this war even ten years after the fact."

The murmuring began anew, and Harry looked at Draco for the fortitude to go on. Draco was frowning at him but more in warning than in disagreement. 

It was just what Harry needed.

"I have a great deal of money," Harry said loudly and was greeted with shocked blinking from the majority of the audience. "I have so much money that I can get away with saying what I'm about to say, because no one wants to lose my backing, not even the all-powerful Ministry of Magic." Harry gripped the sides of the podium. He looked at Hermione then, and though she looked quite frightened for him, she gave him a wavering smile and placed her hand over her heart in a silent message of support.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, steeled himself, and went on.

"A group of children and their teachers won this war. It wasn't all me. It wasn't even mostly me. It was all of us." He looked around the room. "It was Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. It was Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood. It was almost every student at Hogwarts, in fact. It could have been all of them if not for the poison of segregation and discrimination still rampant in the magical world today. And I'm not talking about Pureblood prejudice and hatred, though there is plenty of that, and perhaps if we worked harder to foster decency toward Squibs and Muggleborns, we'd be able to scratch the surface of this problem which plagues our society daily."

Harry swallowed against the sudden dryness of his throat, his utter fear of the words coming out of his mouth. He resisted the urge to tug at his tie. Or just lean to the side and vomit.

"But that's not what I'm referring to here," he went on. "What I'm referring to," and his eyes cast over Draco only momentarily, "is the systematic, institutionalised discrimination against Slytherin students at Hogwarts and the Ministry's allowance of this disgrace, its blind eye, its enthusiasm for placing blame and glory alike depending on what will serve its purposes, rather than the good of the magical community at large."

A quiet roar of disapproval went up around the room. Except for Seamus Finnigan's table which erupted with a great snorting laugh.

Harry disregarded both and went on.

"I, too, have been guilty of this discrimination. Many good people have been. But really how could we not be, when that's all we've ever known: divisiveness, competition, and the seeds of hatred that were sown so far back that not one of us even questions their existence and perpetration in our lives." Harry swallowed. His heart had begun to pound. He felt something like excitement build in him, in the room itself, filling the space with tension like magic about to eject from a wand. "There were dozens of young people at Hogwarts who would have fought alongside us had we not been taught to shun them and they us. 

"One such person is in this room tonight," Harry said, finding Draco's eyes again. Draco gave a little shake of his head 'no', but Harry would not be dissuaded. He was, for better or worse, Gryffindor through and through, and what better purpose was there for spontaneous bouts of ridiculously stupid bravery than such moments as these?

"Draco Malfoy," Harry began and then waited through the inevitable murmuring, "saved my life." Some scandalised old witch near the back of the room gasped as though she had the vapours. Harry was too scared of what he was about to do to laugh, but he was sure in hindsight it would be funny. "To be fair, I saved his, too." This brought on some nervous laughter at least. Harry gulped, his slick hands gripping the podium hard. "He had only ever been taught to hate me…to hate himself… But when it would have benefited him to do otherwise, he didn't name me. He risked his life and the lives of his family to do so, and I have never forgotten it." Harry found Draco's pale face at the back of the room. Draco's lips parted and he blinked at Harry like he was seeing him for the first time. "I also never thanked him. I never really stood up for him. And I always considered it too little too late. But I never forgot it. And I'm only now realising why:

"Draco Malfoy exercised his own moral compass in that moment, going against all that he had been taught and all that he knew of himself. He relinquished his hatred of me in that instance, and he became what I now know to be…an example."

Harry let his eyes travel the ballroom, finding shocked stares, deep frowns, and some encouraging nods.

"Was it the bravest act of the war?" he asked. "No. It wasn't. Did he then side with us and fight his oppressor? No. He did not. But what he did do, he did from that place inside himself that we all possess but that we like to think is privileged to those we call 'good' and absent in those we think of as 'bad'."

Harry relaxed his death grip, flexing his fingers. He reached into the Veil inside himself and retrieved the memory he needed, Sirius' kind face surfacing amidst his own fear. "I was once given a powerful lesson which I've ignored most of my life," he told the stunned silent crowd. "I was told that the world was not divided into good people and Death Eaters. Everybody has both light and dark inside them." Harry looked at Draco. "It's what we act on that makes us who we are. And that day, Draco Malfoy acted on something that he'd never been taught and that had only been denigrated in him. For that, I am grateful and humbled and…" He dropped his gaze, unable to look at the man and say what he was about to say. "For that and many other things I've learned since, I love him."

Murmuring didn't at all describe the noise that went through the room then.

Harry raised his gaze again and smiled softly at Draco looking thunderstruck against the back wall. 

He'd said it. 

He'd said it, and he hadn't died, the ceiling hadn't caved in, the world was still turning. Harry felt his chest grow light with relief and something akin to happiness. He cleared his throat and pressed on still, looking around at all the tables now, all the faces he knew, feeling emboldened.

"There is no 'us'. There is no 'them'. Not anymore. There probably never was. There are only the mistakes of the past which, if left unexamined, will manifest over and over to become, yet again, our future predicament. And this is not an unfixable situation." He felt the hope of his own words and shifted his stance behind the podium. "It is never too late to forge new bonds with those we thought would always be our enemies. It is not too late to reach out and…and see what we can make of ourselves…to see each other with new eyes." He blinked. He looked at Draco again. "Is it?"

There was some confused applause around the room, but Ron whistled loudly in support. Harry broke eye contact with Draco to smile at his friend. He took a deep breath. "Lest it sound like I'm calling for a repudiation of or, Merlin forbid, an overthrow of the Ministry, I'm absolutely not. On the contrary, I'm merely suggesting that it is time for the Ministry, like it is time for all of us, to evolve and expand. It's time for the Ministry to act on the ideals of its leader," Harry looked at Kingsley who, blessedly, hadn't lost his usual calm and refined air in the face of Harry's speech and, in fact, nodded, "and to truly be a support for the magical community at large – for Purebloods and Half-Bloods; Squibs and Muggleborns; witches and wizards; Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs…and Slytherins." Harry's eyes fell on Blaise Zabini, then on Millicent Bulstrode looking smashing in one of her own gowns. He looked at Draco last, gave him a little smile, and then moved on.

"We are all moving into a time of inclusion and cooperation. May we all have the courage to step into this new world, and may the Ministry become a powerful reflection for all that is good between us and all that we can be when we join together, when we honor each other. When we love each other." Harry swallowed and didn't dare look at the man he knew he loved. He picked up his plaque and held it aloft. "Thank you, all, so much. This belongs to all of us." He was leaving the podium when, on instinct, he leaned back in to the _Sonorused_ wand and added, "Don't drink and fly."

Seamus' and Hermione and Ron's tables stood immediately and practically forced the rest of the room to thunderous applause. Harry would have rolled his eyes, but he was too busy leaving the podium. He was too busy getting the hell across the room.

He was too busy dying to see him.

Of course, he got stopped. Hermione hugged him fiercely when he passed their table (and he left his plaque off with her); Dean shook his hand so hard it hurt; Luna engaged him in some sort of celebration dance, but he kissed her on the cheek and moved on.

"Oh God…" Harry mumbled seeing Frederica Bagman heading his way and dodging out of her line of sight. To his immense luck, the band started playing, and he was able to put numerous dancing couples between her and himself.

It was still minutes before he made it to the back of the room. But when he arrived, Draco was waiting.

"You made it," Harry said.

"You're fucking crazy," Draco told him.

Harry smiled.

"And your tie is crooked."

"Bloody hell," Harry growled, his hands going to it immediately.

But Draco's hands knocked his away impatiently, and he pulled Harry's tie loose only to start reknotting it all over again. Harry's whole body reacted, his skin going hot, his mouth dry, and his cock swelling a little in his trousers. Draco Malfoy was tying his tie for him in a ballroom full of people who'd just listened to Harry berate them and profess his love for an ex-Death Eater.

The ex-Death Eater who was now fixing his tie.

"You look edible," Harry told Draco as he worked. He watched Draco's lips twitch. He was in a gorgeous charcoal suit and crisp white dress shirt sans tie. And there were few things in the world that could get Harry going more, Harry realised, than Draco's exposed throat. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"You think it could get _worse_?" Draco threw back. He met Harry's eyes, tugged a little on the tie one last time, and then pronounced it suitable.

When he dropped his hands, Harry mourned the loss of physical contact immediately.

"Want to fuck with them even more and dance with me?"

Draco smiled. "You don't think they've already been fucked with enough?"

"No," Harry said. "I don't."

Draco shook his head, but he couldn't seem to help the small smile he wore. "Lead the way, Potter. It's your reputation, not mine."

Harry took his hand and, heart in his throat, led Draco Malfoy out onto the dance floor.

They turned to one another and Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's neck unabashedly. Draco's arms came around him, too, hands resting hot against his back. They began to move.

"How was your trip?" Harry asked.

"Fine," Draco answered.

"No, I mean it. How are you parents, Draco?"

"Your elf didn't text you?" Draco asked.

Harry blushed. "Well, he has his own ideas about what information is important in any given situation."

"And what did he think you needed to know?"

"What you were eating," Harry replied.

Draco smiled, but it dissolved into a sigh. He finally answered the question. "They're not bad, considering."

"Considering what?"

Harry felt the tension in Draco's body. He ran his hands up Draco's neck and felt the other man shiver.

"There's something I need to tell you," Draco said.

"All right," Harry replied, though he felt the clench of fear in his throat. Draco eroded it in the next instant.

"I haven't seen any other clients for months. Not since we started our Saturdays."

Harry frowned. "Wha— Why?"

"Can you not figure that out for yourself, Potter?" Draco said exasperatedly.

Harry's eyes widened.

Draco nodded forlornly.

Harry felt like someone had _Levicorpused_ him. "You've only been seeing me?"

Draco nodded again.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

At this, Draco rolled his eyes.

Then something occurred to Harry. "Draco, how have you been…getting by?"

Draco's jaw went tight, his eyes dark and full of hurt pride. His chin lifted. And Harry knew.

"You've been giving the money to your parents, haven't you?"

Draco dropped his gaze, moving back, but Harry wouldn't relinquish his hold and drew Draco closer once more.

"Haven't you?" he asked again.

"Part of my father's parole is that he's been left only with a pittance. I've been…helping." At Harry's concerned frown he went on, "But stupid whore that I am, I fell for a client."

"Jesus, Draco," Harry whispered, his thumbs brushing against the other man's strong jaw. "Well, fuck, I'll go to Kingsley. He'll listen to me. We can get your father's sentence commuted or—"

"Harry, stop," Draco said. "You've already done enough. You've done too much. Your money can't buy everything, and they wouldn't take your charity anyway," he finished when Harry had opened his mouth to refute him.

Harry sighed. Then he remembered. He looked at Draco warily, because, knowing the prat, this wouldn't go over great either. Still, he had to try. "I did something," he said.

Draco sighed. "Merlin, Potter, what."

"I sort of…bought you a bookstore."

Draco's feet stopped moving. He didn't take his hands off Harry; he just simply stopped dancing. "You what?"

"Before you object, it's very small. Nearly nothing. It's in Hogsmeade, and it didn't put me out, and you'd be brilliant, and you said you love reading, so I don't see why this has to be a big deal, Malfoy, and—"

"How did your heart grow so huge in that closet they kept you in?" Draco breathed.

"What?" Harry felt sudden tears prickle behind his eyes. No one had ever said anything so beautiful to him before.

"Merlin, Harry," Draco whispered. Then he lifted his hands, cupped Harry's face, and kissed him in front of everyone.

The elation was quick and sweeping. Draco's tongue pressed into his mouth, and Harry opened. His whole body shivered, and he just _opened_.

But, bugger him, it didn't last. Draco pulled back way too soon and said, "But I can't accept. I think you know that."

"Bloody hell, Draco, why not?" His head was still buzzing from the kiss.

Draco's feet moved again and they were dancing once more, ignoring the shocked stares around them. "I don't need saving."

"That doesn't matter. You _deserve_ it," Harry argued, his voice rising.

Draco gave him a small smile, like Harry was this thing he couldn't quite believe.

"Look," Harry said, equivocating, "you can manage it for me, all right? It needs a manager anyway, and you can manage it until you've got the money to buy me out by half. Then we can be partners. Not even you could possibly have an argument against that."

"Not even me?"

"Yes, you stubborn horse's arse," Harry said.

Draco's arms tightened, hauling Harry close enough to feel his tight, sleek body. Harry wound his arms around his neck, his hands in Draco's soft hair, his gaze dropping to his lips. "Say yes."

Draco's lips parted. He drew a breath. And then a hand was tapping his shoulder. 

They both turned to see Mrs Frederica Bagman smiling full-force at Draco. "Young man, may I cut in and dance with this splendid fellow?"

Draco cleared his throat. "Of course," he said regally. Harry thought he might have been the only one to detect the regretful sigh.

"Mr Potter?" Mrs Bagman asked.

"It would be my pleasure," Harry lied, shooting Draco a look before taking her into his arms.

"Ma'am?" Draco asked, laying a hand on Harry's shoulder. When Mrs Bagman inclined her head, Draco whispered in his ear, "Southwest balcony. Ten minutes." Then he walked away.

Harry and Mrs Bagman turned on the floor, this way and that, and Harry watched Draco walk to the bar in the corner, get himself a drink, shoot Harry one last mischievous look, and then wander out of the ballroom.

Mrs Bagman talked his ear off for not one but two songs. She was starting in on a third when Harry felt the hand tap _his_ shoulder.

It was Ron.

Bless him, it was Ron.

"May I cut in?" he asked.

Harry could have kissed him on the lips. "If you must," Harry got out, even as he was edging away.

Ron began dancing with Frederica Bagman, and when her back was turned to him, Harry mouthed, "THANK YOU," received Ron's nod and the implicit, 'You owe me,' and then practically sprinted out of the room.

 

He found Draco leaned against the balustrade with a Firewhiskey in his hand.

"Potter," he said evenly, swirling the liquor.

Harry gave him a small, knowing smile. "Malfoy." 

Draco smiled, and it transformed his face. Harry walked up to him, to his side, and leaned his elbows against the stone, breathing in the crisp magical night air.

"Lovely evening," Draco said. "Isn't it?" He sipped.

"It is quite the view," Harry allowed, his whole body responding in a way that was both pleasurable and a little frightening in its intensity. He supposed he'd just have to get used to that. He looked at Draco, leaned next to him, his delectable arse against the balustrade, and Harry straightened, reached out, and palmed his cock through his trousers, giving it a nice, slow squeeze.

Draco inhaled measuredly and sipped his whiskey.

Harry massaged his cock until it got hard in his hand and pressed against the expensive fabric. Draco offered his glass to Harry, and Harry accepted, taking a long swallow to curb his excitement just enough to last. He passed the drink back, still stroking Draco's prick, and Draco drank again, too. Then he set the glass aside, unbuttoned his suit jacket, found his wand, and cast some privacy charms. Harry gave him a smile and started working his trousers open.

"How do you want me?" Harry asked.

Draco's inhale was sharp this time. "Fuck, Harry," he sighed. 

He spun him toward the balcony wall, stripped his jacket down his arms and off, and got Harry's trousers around his thighs. "Like this," he breathed, conjuring some lube. "Merlin, like this." He slicked up his cock.

Harry braced, spreading his legs, and then Draco was pushing inside him, stretching him, and Harry panted through the discomfort, Draco breathing against his ear, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, Harry, _fuck_."

"Do me hard," Harry told him. His knuckles went white where he gripped the balcony wall. "I've fucking missed you, Draco. Do me hard so I'll feel you for days."

Draco only growled in answer, and he took Harry's hips and drove into him, wasting no time. It was exactly what Harry needed. He closed his eyes, his mouth opening on the pleasure.

It wasn't long before Draco was bouncing against his arse, and Harry was warm and open and all he wanted was for Draco to come inside him, to fill him up. Harry canted his hips back, silently begging for what he needed.

"Jesus, I'm going to come," Draco got out.

Harry arched still further in answer.

"Oh, fuck," Draco growled, and then Harry felt it, slick and hot, spilling inside him.

Harry made noises he knew he shouldn't in public, not even with Draco's spells in place. But Merlin, it felt so bloody good.

"Touch my cock," Harry practically mewled when Draco's thrusting slowed.

Draco held him close against his body with one hand and grasped his aching cock with the other. He kept fucking Harry's arse, slowly now, as his hand worked.

Harry wanted to move – on the still-hard cock in his arse, into the hand that cradled him – but Draco held him fast and he just had to suffer the tenderness, the way Draco played him, the bristle of magic he felt between them. "Christ," he gasped.

"Did you mean it?" Draco asked him.

Harry nodded.

"Did you _mean_ it, Harry?"

"Yes, Draco, I meant it," Harry whined. "I meant all of it."

Draco's lips pressed to his jaw, and Harry turned his head, his lips parting already, begging with every breath. Draco kissed him deep and slow until Harry was throbbing for it. 

"Let me come," Harry finally said once the kiss came to an end. "Please let me come."

Draco's cock slipped out of his arse, and they both hissed. But then he started wanking Harry quickly, his hand almost a blur. Harry moaned luridly, his thighs tense, the heat rising, and Draco brought him off, making Harry come so hard, shooting ropes of it onto the stone balustrade until Harry thought it might never end.

When the grip of his orgasm finally left him, Harry breathed out a little laugh. "Merlin, Malfoy," he said. He pulled up and fastened his trousers as Draco did the same. When he turned, Draco was holding out his jacket for him. Harry donned it, feeling dirty and wonderful. "Are you going to say yes, then?" he said.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You simply don't give up, do you?"

Harry shook his head. "No, I don't."

"Well, shit, Potter, I haven't even seen the place. How am I to make an informed decision?"

Harry pretty much knew he had him then. He could see the telling spark in Draco's eyes. "Want to go now? We could blow this joint." He walked in close to Draco, not ready to not be touching him yet. Though, bloody hell, he sure smelled like the man. Harry felt himself blushing.

He took Draco's slim hips in his hands and looked up into his face.

"I don't know," Draco mused. "I rather fancied another dance with you."

"I smell like you fucked me," Harry supplied as if that wasn't obvious.

Draco's grey eyes flashed silver. "Exactly."

"Sick bastard," Harry smiled. "I'm dating a sick bastard."

Draco's hands sank into his hair, no doubt destroying any respectability he'd managed to craft of it. "And I'm in love with a bloody Gryffindor," he sighed.

Harry felt the words hit his chest and then cascade down his entire body.

"Drag me to the dance floor before I come to my senses," Harry told him.

Draco took his hand. He started toward the doors, but then he turned back. "Your tie's crooked," he informed Harry.

"Good," Harry replied.

Draco dismantled the wards, opened the door, and he didn't have to drag Harry anywhere. They walked into the ballroom side by side.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment here, or return to [LIVEJOURNAL](http://hd-tropes.livejournal.com/20229.html) to comment! ♥


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